


It's Our Time Now If You Want It To Be

by TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Sex, Coming In Pants, Friends to Lovers, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Happy Ending, Homophobia, M/M, Making Love, Making Out, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pegging, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 08:04:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan/pseuds/TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan
Summary: Patrick is a trans male, and he hasn't told his band. Or his best friend, who he's hoping would be his boyfriend one day. But when said best friend finds out by accident, everything comes crashing down.FROM OTPPROMPTS.TUMBLR: A walks in on B binding, and totally flips out. Bthinks it’s because they’re binding in the first place, but it’s actually because they werebinding with ace bandages and could injure themselves. A later buys B a proper binder.





	It's Our Time Now If You Want It To Be

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Slept With Someone in Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Accident](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16952574) by [Coriander (JayTylerA)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayTylerA/pseuds/Coriander). 



> So about a million years ago, I wrote this saga under a different pseud, SelketsChild, and some of you probably remember that. I deleted my account bc I was worried about no longer being totally anonymous, but I suppose it doesn't really matter anymore. Anyway, I was reading a brilliant fic by Coriander(JayTylerA) about Trans!Pete getting accidentally pregnant, and it reminded me that I still had this. Anyway, I am putting it all as one big story instead of chapters bc fuck it, I'm lazy, but I really felt I wanted to share this again.

Pete groaned and shifted on his feet outside Patrick's bedroom door. “Ugh, 'Trick, come on! We're gonna be late for practice! Jesus, you take longer than any chick to get ready!”

There was a heavy, audible sigh from Patrick's side of the door. “Take that back. Plenty of guys take a long time to get dressed. You spend more time on your hair than... I don't know, even...Liberace probably did!”

Pete chuckled and trailed his fingers along the door as he imagined Patrick in there, blushing all the way down to his happy trail, trying to choose the right t-shirt that wouldn't be too tight on his round tummy. Pete knew Patrick was self-conscious, always trying to hide his soft body under layers upon layers of clothing. Pete actually found it quite endearing, how completely unaware of his own beauty the kid really was.

“That comeback would have been clever if you hadn't stammered your way through it, Lunchbox,” Pete snarked.

“Don't call me Lunchbox,” Patrick whined, his voice getting closer to the door. Pete straightened up immediately and tried to look like he hadn't just been imagining Patrick shirtless and wondering how much chest hair he had and whether his nipples were sensitive, and...

_Fuck._

“Ready?” Patrick said, a bit breathless and color high on his cheekbones. His wild, strawberry hair jutted out on all directions from underneath a newsboy cap as he pulled a tan blazer on over the plaid button-up he had on over his Bowie t-shirt. The thick, dark rims of his glasses contrasted against his skin and his blue eyes looked even bigger. Pete tried not to notice the way his jeans fit just a hair tight in the crotch, showcasing the goods ever-so-slightly, and the way his bright blue sneakers pretty much clashed with everything else he was wearing.

God, but Patrick was gorgeous.

Pete nodded and swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I've been ready, slowpoke. Come on.” He ruffled a hand on Patrick's hat. Patrick laughed and swatted Pete's hand away, then fixed it and punched Pete's arm. “Ow. No hurting the bassist.”

“It can only improve your playing,” Patrick quipped as they went out to the driveway and got in the car.

Pete clutched his heart. “You wound me, Trickster.”

“Just drive, Jeeves,” Patrick said through a melodic laugh, patting Pete's thigh. Pete bit the inside of his cheek to hold back how excited just that little touch made him, and pulled out to go to rehearsal.

******

Pete was not staring at Patrick's mouth. He was not. He was definitely not watching the way those lips popped the P sounds in certain words, the way his tongue flicked just so on L sounds, the way he shaped his whole mouth around words like 'mouth' and 'throat' and 'bed'...

_Fuck Fuck Fuck. I gotta stop this. He's my best friend. He's my fucking bandmate. He's only seventeen, for Chrissakes! He's all shy and humble and innocent and awesome and he doesn't even know it. It's a fucking crime that he doesn't think anything of himself. If I had the chance, I'd do everything I could to make him feel like the most perfect person ever. EVER. Because that's exactly what he is, what he deserves..._

“Pete? Peeeeeete? Earth to Pete?” Joe was snapping his fingers and flicking his lip ring back and forth as he impatiently tried to drag his bassist back to reality.

Pete blinked a couple of times. “Huh?”

Joe smirked. “Huh. That's what I thought. You weren't even playing the whole second half of the song. You OK, dude?”

“Yeah,” Pete said, a bit sheepishly, palming the back of his neck. “Uh, just a little distracted, I guess. I didn't sleep that well.”

Andy threw a drumstick at his head. “Bullshit. Who is she?”

Pete rubbed the spot where the projectile connected with his cranium. “Ow! Hey, cut that out! This is where the Pulitzer-Prize-winning lyrics and million-dollar ideas live! Lay off!”

Patrick put a gentle hand on Pete's shoulder. “Is everything really OK?”

Pete put his hand over Patrick's and smiled. This kid. This awesome, big-hearted, beautiful kid.

“Yeah, everything is really OK, 'Trick. I'm sorry my mind was wandering a little. Let's get back to work.”

 _Shit. I'm so, so fucked_ , Pete thought.

******

Pete and Patrick were quiet on the way home. Patrick knew that his best friend would talk when he was ready, and pushing him to do so even a millisecond before that moment was useless. They had only been friends for about a year, but this was one of those hard-learned lessons that had almost cost them their friendship, the band, everything. Patrick wouldn’t forget it.

So, he didn’t push.

When they got into his driveway, they took off their seatbelts, but when Patrick reached for the car door, Pete grabbed his other wrist. “Hey, ‘Trick?” he said, his voice soft.

Patrick turned back to him. “Yeah, Pete?”

“Uh, do you think we could hang out tomorrow? Like, when you get out of school?” He shrugged a shoulder and looked at their hands between them. “You know, just maybe hit Reckless Records or go get coffee or something?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Patrick said, stammering a bit as his chest started to tingle with nerves. “I, can’t, um…” He looked down, picking at a thread in his jeans. “Uh…” He looked back at Pete, who looked absolutely crushed. “No, I mean, I, uh, I’m just, uh, I’m gonna be busy tomorrow, but uh, maybe Friday?” He looked at his best friend hopefully.

Pete blinked a couple of times, then smiled widely. “Yeah! Yeah, Friday’s great! There’s a decent band playing at the Double Door. We could check it out?”

Patrick nodded, and Pete reached across the seats and pulled his shoulders into as much of a hug as they could manage in that awkward position. Pete chanced a kiss on Patrick’s cheek, and the younger boy laughed nervously. He clapped Pete’s shoulder.

“Good night, Pete.”

“Night, ‘Trick. See ya Friday.” Pete’s grin was huge and genuine, and it made Patrick’s heart light up a little.

Patrick got out of the car, the tingles in is chest not as much from nerves as from excitement now.

When he got in the house, he put his guitar in the basement, then came back up into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom,” he said happily.

Patricia turned from the kitchen table, where she was just setting dinner down, and kissed the side of his head. “Hi, honey. How was rehearsal?”

“It went pretty well. Oh, hey, is it cool if I go into the city with Pete Friday night?”

She smiled slyly. “And why are you going to the city with a cute, older boy?”

Patrick blushed as he twirled his spaghetti and said, “Because Pete asked if I wanted to check out a band that’s playing at the Double Door?”

“And is my son old enough to get into this Double Door?”

Patrick shrugged. “I don’t know, but Pete can get us in, I’m pretty sure. Being kinda famous and all.”

Patricia gave a little conciliatory eye roll. “Well, OK, but as long as Pete promises to look out for you and make sure you’re safe. He’s a good guy, Patrick. I’m sure you’re in good hands.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said with a thousand-yard stare. “He is a good guy.”

After dinner, Patrick went to his room to get changed for bed. He threw off his hat and examined the crown of his head in the mirror, where he was already starting to thin, and gave a frustrated sigh. Then, he hung up his jacket and button-down back in the closet. He kicked off his jeans and then carefully stripped off his boxers, revealing his packer and strap. He removed them and put the packer aside to wash it. Finally, he took off the Bowie t-shirt and looked at the bandages he used for binding, the main reason he layered so heavily and avoided hugging people too much.

He removed the claw under his arm and began unwinding it, and felt his breasts aching from being pressed down. They fell free, and Patrick looked at himself in the mirror as he rolled the bandage back up. He felt a sting of the old frustration at the wrongness of his own body as he thought of Pete.

Pete, the hot older boy who wanted to take him to a concert. Pete, who listened to his stories and laughed at his jokes and smiled at him like he mattered. Pete made him feel important. And kind of normal.

Patrick wondered what Pete would do if he knew. Would he still like me? As friends, or as anything else? Patrick knew he was possibly misreading the invitation to the concert, hoping for it to be a date whether it really was or not. Still, he felt his heart rate pick up, his body heat up and prickle as he thought of Pete liking him, kissing him, hell, maybe even fucking him one day.

Then he looked in the mirror again, and felt confused tears stinging his eyes. He wondered whether Pete would like him better this way, gawk at his tits and ask him not to change any further, to just try to be a girl. The thought hurt, nearly ruining the perfectly good surge of teenage hormones working its way between his legs, making him wet. Pete wasn’t the first boy he’d had a crush on since he’d begun the transition, but his confusion over how to approach the subject, how to trust someone with this information, had kept Patrick from ever acting on his attractions. He just didn’t know how to let someone in, let someone see that he maybe wasn’t who they thought he was. He'd always thought maybe he'd allow for relationships once his body was transitioned to his liking. And that was a whole other array of decisions he just didn't feel ready to tackle yet. Hell, he was only seventeen.

Pete was making waiting, putting off those decisions, a hell of a lot harder.

He put on his pajamas and wiped the tears from his eyes, then took the packer to the bathroom to wash it and wrap it up. He wondered (like he did every night) how it would feel not to have to do this, and whether he really wanted to commit to surgical reassignment or whether pack-and-plays were more practical. He felt tired just thinking about it.

Great. Tired and horny and totally overwhelmed. The story of being a teenager, Patrick supposed.

As soon as he crawled under the covers, he took a deep breath to clear his head, then reached into his shorts and rubbed slow circles over himself. He brought himself off twice, fresh tears in his eyes and his mind on nothing but Pete, then rolled over and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

******

Patrick had the same argument with himself every day about whether to pack at school. On one hand, he was trying to adjust to life as a boy, get used to the heft and the relatively new presence between his legs. It was a practical matter of the transition. Not only that, but he also liked it being there. It felt more like how he was supposed to be. But, on the other hand, he didn’t really need to pass with kids he’d gone to school with his whole life, who knew him Before. Plus, despite several discussions with the principal, she still insisted Patrick use the girls’ room, even had the nerve to pretend it was for Patrick’s comfort and best interests, to avoid bullying, so he could just keep doing what he had been doing all along.

 _Bullshit_ , Patrick thought. _This isn’t about my comfort. It’s about everyone else’s._

But what if he met a new kid? A new opportunity to wipe the slate clean and just be Patrick? The kids at school knew he was Patrick now, knew he was transitioning, but there were still some people, kids and teachers alike, who acted like this was a phase, like “Patrick” was just a nickname (even though it was nothing like his dead name). A few people had been downright mean, made fun of him, called him a freak, but after a couple of months it died down. The fact that Patrick had finally snapped and punched one of them helped a little. They let him off with detention when he explained to the principal that he had just had his testosterone shot the day before and was feeling a little uneven. It was an unfortunate side effect of his treatment, and he hated it usually, but it had saved his skin that day.

That was why he’d had to postpone hanging out with Pete. He had his appointment with Dr. Beckett after school today, and he knew he’d be feeling off for the next day or so while the hormone made its way through his system and evened out. He knew Pete would suppose he was just a moody teenager, maybe eating a little too much, but something about letting Pete see him like that, when Patrick knew the reason for it, felt a little too intimate. Like letting Pete a little too close to the truth too soon.

_What truth? What the fuck is the truth? Who even knows anymore? The truth is I’m a boy, and trying to find the right way to be a boy without inconveniencing anyone else is fucking exhausting._

Even after all this time, it seemed like the same questions and fears just kept resurfacing.

In the end, he put the packer in and went to school. He wondered idly how long he would have to keep proving his identity to people who knew him Before, but that was another of those exhausting thoughts he really couldn’t afford to have too many of.

_Fuck it. I’m Patrick._

******

“Hello, Patrick,” Dr. Beckett said kindly as he closed the door behind him. Patrick sat on the table with his jeans off and a drape over his lap, even though he still had everything else on. “How have you been doing?”

Patrick shrugged. “OK, I guess.”

“Hmm. And your periods are still fully stopped?”

“Yeah. Still no spotting or anything.”

Dr. Beckett nodded. “That’s good. And how are you doing in school?”

Patrick picked at his cuticles. “Um, fine. The, uh, the kids pretty much leave me alone now, but the teachers, and stuff, they don’t really get it. It, uh, it’s still kinda hard.”

The doctor drew up the shot while Patrick looked out the window. “That must be frustrating. At least you only have a little while left.”

Patrick nodded. Then, before he could stop himself, he near-whispered, “There’s a boy.”

He felt the alcohol wipe on his thigh has the doctor said, “Oh? Do tell.”

“Uh, it’s Pete. From my band?” he said, as though the doctor hadn’t heard all manner of teenage prattle about the infamous and incomparable Pete Wentz. “He, uh, I think he asked me out. We’re going to a concert on Friday.”

“Well, well, you’ve only had a crush on him just this side of forever. So, how do you feel about that?”

“Excited, but really scared. Um, he, uh, he doesn’t know yet.” Patrick didn’t need to clarify, of course.

As the needle went into his quad, Patrick winced. Dr. Beckett said, “He doesn’t know? I thought he was your best friend.”

Patrick gritted his teeth and bit out, “Uh, I just… haven’t really found a way to tell him yet. I don’t know. If this is a date, we’re gonna have to talk about it at some point, I guess.” He took a breath, then spoke more evenly. “I mean, I know he likes guys and girls, you know, so I mean, I guess it wouldn’t matter, but… I don’t know, in another way that’s more confusing, because I don’t know, like, which way he’ll want me, if that makes sense. And, like, I know it’s not about him, it’s about me and what I want, but… even I haven’t made a lot of those decisions, and… uh, well, this is kinda why I haven’t dated anyone, and I… I don’t know how he’ll feel about just that I’ve been hiding this… and… I’m just really confused.”

Dr. Beckett pressed on the puncture wound with gauze, then put a bandaid on it. “Well, Patrick, from what you tell me, Pete’s been a good friend for you, and you for him as well. I personally think if you’re honest with him, he’ll understand, but that’s for you to decide.”

“Yeah, well, I have a couple of days to think about it.”

The doctor made some notes and said, “That you do. Good luck, Patrick. We’ll see you in a month, and at that time we should talk about having you start to do this at home.”

“Ok, thank you, Dr. Beckett.” Patrick waited while the doctor pulled the curtain and left so Patrick could put his pants back on.

 _Be honest with him, sure, no sweat_ , Patrick thought sarcastically as he bit his lip.

******

Sure enough, he spent the next day feeling out-of-sorts. He hunched low in his seat in every class, gnawing his lip and reading the slightest insult into totally benign things, like the girl in the front row tossing her long, blonde hair over her shoulder.

_Yeah, she thinks she’s so great, so pretty and at ease with herself. She looks like she stepped out of a goddamned shampoo commercial. Uppity bitch._

He folded in on himself more, and decided to leaf through the notebook of Pete’s lyrics to try and kill time until he could go home.

_I hope you choke on those words that kissed that bottle_   
_When you catch fire, I wouldn’t piss to put you out_   
_Don’t burn bridges, drive off them_

Patrick slammed it shut, a little too hard, drawing a few stares. Pete’s words were a little too on-point right now. He knew he just needed more time to calm down, even out, but that didn’t change the fact that he just wanted to be away from all these staring eyes, all these other kids who looked so perfect and normal and had no idea what he was going through, didn’t even really care or want to be bothered. And yeah, he knew they all had their own problems. Everyone did, no one’s life was perfect. Right now, though, his own life felt monstrous, trapped in skin that didn’t fit him, like some cruel joke, or a mistake.

Christ, what do you do when you feel like a mistake?

He felt tears welling up. He knew his thoughts weren’t rational. He and Dr. Beckett and his therapist had talked about all of this. The hormone surges were normal. The mood swings, appetite changes, weight gain, hair thinning, all of it normal. He knew this, somewhere beyond the frustration he felt in this moment, but just couldn’t embrace it.

Finally, finally, Patrick got home and ran straight up to his room. His muscles ached, torn between the need to move, to be used, to do something, and being too sore and tired from being so wound up all day. He sat with his head in his hands for a few minutes, breasts aching under the bandages, and decided music was the answer. It usually was.

He took Pete’s notebook and went to the basement, then grabbed his guitar. He was fitting the stream-of-consciousness temper tantrum to a thrumming guitar line, getting it all down for GarageBand, when Patricia called him upstairs for supper.

Patrick piled his plate high and immediately began shoveling food in before his mother even sat down with him. She didn’t speak, didn’t ask how his day was, just let him eat in silence. As he swallowed a mouthful of potatoes, he looked at her. Just really looked at his mother and realized how wonderful she was. How grateful he was for her unconditional support and her love. She could have freaked and thrown him out, tried to make him be that girl that she’d held in her arms seventeen years ago. But she didn’t.

When Patrick told her his name, told her he was a boy, she didn’t get it right away of course (no one’s perfect), but sooner than later, she’d understood and agreed to help him. She went to counseling and support groups, started using male pronouns and calling him her son, Patrick. And she continued to love him, no matter what. And now, when he needed space, needed peace, she gave it to him, no matter how worried she was or how much she probably wanted to reach out and try to help. She just knew how to give  
him whatever he needed.

Before he knew it, Patrick was crying as the too-big mound of food pressed its way down his esophagus.

Patricia’s eyes met his, and she slowly reached a hand toward him, an offering, but didn’t touch him. “Can I do anything to help you, Patrick?” she asked slowly, cautiously.

Patrick shook his head. “You already do everything for me. I’m just… really glad you’re my mom. You’re just… really incredible, and… I… just… thank you. Really. For, like, understanding and being there and helping me, and just… for everything.”

She smiled and patted his wrist, her own eyes misty. “Of course, Patrick. You’re my baby, and you always will be, no matter what. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom.” He got up from his seat and went over to her and hugged her.

She kissed his cheek and said, “Why don’t you finish eating and get going on your homework, huh? I’d bet money you wrote all afternoon down there, and didn’t even open your bookbag." She smirked knowingly at him.

Patrick laughed, wiped his eyes, and nodded. “Yeah, OK, Mom.”

That night, when Patrick crawled into bed, unpacked and unbound, he let himself imagine Pete being as supportive as his mom, saying Patrick was beautiful and that he loved him no matter what.

He’d find out soon enough, he supposed.

******

Friday afternoon finally rolled around after the universe decided to throw about six or seven extra days in there, so it seemed to Patrick. Pete had texted him roughly 57,000 times that day to make sure they were still on, and firm up what time he should be at his house to pick him up.

Patrick had been sitting on the couch, drumming his fingers and tapping his feet for the better part of an hour when Pete finally pulled up.

“Bye, Mom!” he called over his shoulder as he ran out the front door.

He leapt into the car with Pete, who had smoothed and spiked his hair just so, and lined his eyes perfectly. He was wearing Patrick’s favorite cologne, and he gave a half smile that had his heart melting straight downward, making him damp and tingly already.

 _Shit. I am in so much trouble_ , Patrick thought.

Pete looked Patrick over, and couldn’t hold back a lovesick sigh. His cheeks were flushed, and there was an excited smile lighting up his eyes from behind his glasses. His lips were parted and he was panting a little bit from the short run. He had a thick, puffy vest on over a long-sleeved,  
striped thermal shirt, and yet another blinding trucker hat and clashing sneakers.

_He’s so fucking precious. Good Lord, help us all._

“Everything OK?” Patrick asked, tapping his fingers on his leg.

“Yeah, everything’s great, 'Trick. Let’s go.” They settled so they were sitting forward, Patrick buckled up, and they were off.

They were quiet for the first few minutes of the ride, while Pete fussed with the radio until Patrick just pulled out Pete’s CDs and threw in the Cure.

“Nice,” Pete said, glancing over at Patrick and smiling. Patrick just grinned and blushed. Pete reached a hand over and patted his thigh, and Patrick put his hand over it, instinctively.

_Should I ask Pete if this is a date? Is this just a best-friends thing? Is it totally lame of me if I do ask? Am I putting him on the spot by asking? ARGH!!!_

Dr. Beckett had advised him to just be honest, but his tongue felt like lead every time he tried to open his mouth even about something as trifling as the semantics of their night out. How was he ever going to broach the bigger topic that there was only one Y chromosome between them?

Then, Pete flipped his hand over and laced their fingers together, and Patrick felt his heart flutter.

Patrick chanced a glance in Pete’s direction, but he kept his eyes firmly on the road, even as he squeezed Patrick’s hand.

He breathed deeply, and on an exhale, just blurted out, “Is this a date, Pete?”

Pete’s mouth quirked upward and he glanced over as he said, “Maybe. Should it be?”

Patrick bit his lip, closed his eyes, and nodded before he could stop himself. “I, I think I’d like it to be.”

“Good,” Pete said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I do, too.”

Pete got them into the Double Door. They didn’t even check Patrick’s ID, thank God. He hadn’t been able to change his name or gender legally, yet, and of course he hadn’t really thought of that, either.

The opening band was awful. Patrick and Pete kinda suffered through them, trying their best to talk by shouting in each other’s ears. Patrick tried not to get too excited about the way Pete made a big show of leaning in his ear to talk, as wetness could quickly become an issue if he wasn’t careful. But oh, he was excited. His heart was hammering in his chest, sweat was pooling at the small of his back, and those familiar butterfly tingles were flitting around in his chest and belly.

God, he couldn’t believe his luck. Pete was gorgeous, and funny, and smart, and sexy, and he was here with _Patrick_. He could have anyone, and he’d chosen _Patrick_.  
And Patrick knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that The Big Talk was suddenly closer than ever. Pete was not going to be content to keep his distance and never hold or touch or undress him.

The headliner was really good. They jumped around and danced, clapped and shouted, and just generally acted like idiots. Patrick excused himself to go to the bathroom, and Pete kissed his cheek and nodded. Patrick smiled so hard he felt his muscles start to ache, and Pete returned it with an even bigger, brighter smile.

Peeing in public was a challenge on the best day, as Patrick hadn’t yet obtained an STP device, but he managed to get into a stall and out again with minimal difficulty. Once he came out to the sink, he glanced around and blotted the whole area and the packer with a paper towel. It wasn’t  
ideal—he didn’t have powder of any kind—but it would have to do for a while.

Thankfully, he just got himself zipped up and was washing his hands when another, bigger dude walked him. Patrick looked down and tried to look totally engrossed in his task. He did catch the guy throwing him a derisive glace as he went to the urinal, but tried to ignore it. As he was walking out the door, he heard the guy mutter, “Fucking faggot.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. _Welcome to the thirty years ago, asshole_ , he thought as he just kept walking.

He was actually laughing by the time he found Pete again. “What’s so funny?” Pete asked.

“Some guy just called me a faggot in the bathroom.” He laughed harder as he said it, his eyes starting to water.

Pete looked absolutely bewildered. “And that’s funny?”

“Well… yeah. I... It’s… I can’t explain it, but yes, it is really funny.” As his laughter subsided, he choked out little guffaws and wiped at the corners of his eyes while Pete just stared, utterly besotted.

“Patrick,” he said, and when their eyes met, Pete crooked his finger under Patrick’s chin and suddenly everything slowed down in Patrick’s mind.

The way the air conditioning ruffled Pete’s hair.

Pete’s eyes, half-green in the dim light.

Pete’s face closing in millimeter by millimeter.

The smell of that incredible cologne.

The sound of Pete’s sharp inhale when their lips finally met.

The soft, smooth feel of their lips against each other.

The heat at the back of Pete’s neck as Patrick’s hand landed there.

The soft, tingly feel of Pete’s fingertips brushing the side of Patrick’s neck.

When they pulled apart, Patrick brought up his fingers to his lips, his eyes still closed. “Wow,” he murmured.

“Come on,” Pete said, tugging Patrick by the wrist. He pulled him outside the club and into an alley, where they were alone. He caged Patrick against the wall of the club, running his finger over Patrick’s soft, warm cheek. “You’re so beautiful, ‘Trick.”

Patrick positively melted. “Yeah?” he said. “I… I don’t know if there’s a word good enough for you.” He put a hand to his forehead. “God, that was awful. But… you’re absolutely gorgeous, Pete, and… I…”

He was cut off when Pete’s mouth was on his again. It was almost exactly how Patrick had always imagined, warm and wet and just a little overly confident, but Patrick thought it was justified by the way his legs were turning to jelly as he kissed back. It was pretty perfect.

Until Pete started trying to unzip the vest.

His hands were so close, too close to the bandages, too close to his body. His throat threatened to close as Pete got the zipper open down to his belly, and before he could blink, he was pushing Pete off of him, gasping for him to stop.

“Patrick?” Pete asked, sounding worried, while Patrick tugged the vest closed and hugged his body. “What’s wrong?” Patrick tried to meet his gaze, but his face wore such hurt and confusion, Patrick just looked at his feet. “Is it.. is it me? Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Patrick said, putting one hand up in front of him. “No, you didn’t. It’s… it’s something wrong with me, Pete. I just… I don’t know if I’m ready…” Tears were welling up. “Oh, Christ, I sound like a fucking child. I just… I don’t… I’m sorry…”

Patrick wasn’t sure what he expected to happen, but it sure as shit was not for Pete to put his arms around him and hold him. “I’m sorry, ‘Trick. I… I’ll take you home.” Patrick just nodded against Pete’s shoulder, and they went to the car.

The ride home was deathly quiet. Patrick had his arms folded across himself as Pete practically gripped the wheel with white knuckles. When they pulled up in front of Patrick’s house, Pete turned to the younger boy to see he was shaking like a leaf.

“Patrick, talk to me, please?” he pleaded.

Patrick shook his head so vehemently his hat nearly flew off. “I can’t. Not about this. Not yet.”

“’Trick, you’re my best friend. If something’s eating you, I wanna help.”

“I can’t, Pete. I… I gotta go.” Patrick opened the door and took off into his house.

Pete sat behind the wheel for a minute or two, staring at the house, and thinking about Patrick.

The way he completely freaked out and pushed Pete away, protecting himself. He’d been terrified, and all Pete could gather from that was that Patrick had been hurt before. He seemed so… traumatized.

And fuck if Pete was just going to stand by and let Patrick suffer alone, thinking something was  
wrong with him.

“Oh, hell, no,” Pete muttered, opening his door and climbing out. He barged right into Patrick’s house and up the stairs to Patrick’s bedroom door. He knocked a few times and said, “Patrick?”

There was an audible gasp, and he said, “Go away, Pete!” There was an edge of panic to his voice.

“No. Whatever happened to you, whoever hurt you, it’s not your fault, Patrick, and it’s nothing wrong with you. You’re… you’re amazing and perfect, Patrick.”

"No, I'm not, Pete. You don't know what you're talking about."

"God, yes you are." Pete paused, then said, “I love you.”

Patrick didn’t say anything for a minute. Then, “Do you?”

Pete sighed and said, his voice shaking, “Yes, Patrick. I do. Now, can we please—” He opened the bedroom door, and there was his best friend.

He had no shirt on, and, oh God, Pete had imagined this innumerable times, but never in a million years did he anticipate seeing him with an ace bandage hanging almost completely off of his tits.

And a fake dick on the dresser.

Pete wasn’t sure at what point he fell backward onto his ass, but his mouth had been hanging open when he did, and the impact made him bite his tongue. He tasted blood, could feel it running down his throat, but he just sat wide-eyed staring at his best friend, who he’d always been pretty sure was just another dude like him, standing there in front of him with goddamned tits.

It was just too much for Pete’s brain to process in that one moment.

Patrick held his rumpled t-shirt in front of his chest, his face and neck completely crimson, and just choked out, “Pete, I…”

But Pete was already running out the door.

******

Patrick closed his bedroom door, then looked at himself in the mirror while he pulled his pajamas on. He picked up the packer, and he knew Pete had seen it. Pete had seen everything. Hot tears blurred his vision as he hucked the entire thing at his full-length mirror, cracking it. He dropped the ace bandage without winding it back up, and just flung himself on his bed and cried.

He should have been honest. He should have told Pete before now. He’d just been so goddamned _scared_. But straight talk would have been so much better than this. Pete deserved better than to find out this way.

There was another, gentler knock on the door. “Baby? Can I come in?”

Patrick didn’t reply, so Patricia opened the door and sat on the bed beside him. She patted the back of his leg. “I’m sorry, Patrick. I’m so sorry things happened this way.”

He sat up and turned around toward his mother, and launched himself at her in a fierce hug as gut-wrenching sobs wracked his body. “I shoulda told him, Mom. I shoulda just said. I shoulda…”

She rubbed his back and rocked him back and forth while he cried. “Shhhh, Patrick, it’s OK. Everything’s gonna be alright. Pete loves you. You’ll work this out. You just need a little time, that’s all.”

“I h-hope you’re right.” Patrick sniffled and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

Patricia took her son’s face in her hands. “I know I’m right, Sweetheart. Just you wait and see. You know Pete’s not gonna give up on you.”

Patrick nodded, then backed away to lie down. “I don't think he will, but I just... I can't think about that now. I’m just gonna try and get some sleep.”

His mother nodded. “OK, honey. I’m right down the hall if you need anything.” She put a hand on his head once he was situated, and he smiled weakly as he put a hand over hers.

Then she turned out the light and went to her room, and Patrick lay in the dark for an untold amount of time before passing out from sheer exhaustion.

******

Patrick lay in bed all day the next day. In his mind, he kept seeing Pete on his ass in the hallway, that shocked look on his face at seeing Patrick’s body. It made him feel even more ashamed, misplaced and discomfited. He felt like everything that had happened the night before had been a big mistake. Just like him. It made him feel even more wrong. He curled into a ball, covered his face with his hands, and cried as his mind swirled with those old taunting thoughts and insecurities.

_God, everything I do is wrong. Everything about me is wrong. I’m just a big fat failure._

_Joke_

_Freak_

_Mistake_

_Mistake_

_MISTAKE_

“There's absolutely no possible way you're a mistake, Patrick,” a voice said from his bedroom door.

Patrick didn't realize he'd spoken out loud. He blinked, sniffled, and wiped his eyes. He was so tired of crying. When he looked up at his door, there was Pete. He carried a shopping bag, and he put it inside the door and came to sit on the bed.

“I… I’m sorry,” he said as he put a hand on Patrick’s ankle through the blankets.

Patrick sat up slowly, pulling the blankets up in front of his t-shirt and unbound chest. “You? Why are _you_ sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yes, I did. I’m sorry for making you feel pressured, and I’m sorry for how I acted last night. But… mostly, I’m sorry I ever made you think you couldn’t talk to me.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. Pete, I… I lied to you. I hid things from you. I pushed you away and I didn’t trust you.” Patrick huddled more into himself as he spoke.

Pete rolled his eyes. “You did, but… ’Trick, this is pretty huge. I mean, I could understand why it’d be tough to talk about it. But… will you? Please?” His face was pleading.

Patrick blinked at him. “I… I don’t understand. This kinda doesn’t compute.”

“Will you talk to me? Let me, like, know what’s going on and let me… be there for you?” He took Patrick’s hand as he spoke.

“But… are you sure? I mean… it’s all really weird and I’m, like, not sure what’s gonna happen, and I mean, I may never be fully… like, this or that, or whatever… Are you sure you really wanna be there for hormones and thinning hair and mood swings and… and maybe surgery and recovery and years of therapy? Or maybe none of it? I mean, I’m a lot, Pete, no two ways about it.”

“And I’m not? Dude, I’m Pete fucking Wentz. I jumped off my roof with nothing but an umbrella, I drove a golf cart down a staircase, and I made Dirty drink from a mud puddle. Shit, my parents had to ship me to boot camp and they still couldn’t get me to toe the line. Frankly, I can’t believe I tricked you into being in a band with me, let alone being my friend or… or anything else.” He said this last part a bit unsteadily, as though waiting for Patrick to contradict him.

“Still, I kinda don’t blame you for freaking out. I mean, it’s a lot, especially since I kinda didn’t warn you, or anything. God, I just was so scared.”

“Well, now I get why that guy calling you a ‘faggot’ was funny.” Pete chuckled a little.

Patrick nodded again. “Yeah, if he had any idea how… how much stranger my life is than just being that. I gotta go that extra mile and have... all this.” He waved a hand at himself.

“Which I ended up seeing on our first date?” Pete said like it were a question, and laughed again.

“Oh, yeah, I probably should have warned you about that, huh?” Patrick joked. “You know, that I’m actually totally easy.”

Pete threw his head back and laughed as tears rolled down his face. “Oh, that reminds me, I brought you something.” He got up from the bed as Patrick stared after him in complete wonderment. He grabbed the shopping bag, came back, and sat down, then handed it over.

Patrick pulled out a breast binder. Like, a really nice one. “This is... for me? Pete, this is amazing.”

“Well, I was really worried about the fact that you were… like, using an ace bandage, ‘cause I heard that’s pretty dangerous, and you could really injure yourself, you know? Why don’t you have one like this?”

Patrick hung his head. “I did, but, it broke, and uh, we don't have the money for new ones. It's the same reason I haven’t had any surgery, and why I had to cut back my therapist appointments, and why I don’t have any, like, equipment, beyond the very basics. Um, they cut back my mom’s hours at her work, and well, my shit's expensive, you know, so I made do. I mean, I figured, I’m kinda young anyway, and I have time to figure out how far I wanna go with all of it. You know, where I’ll be comfortable? But also I was hoping if the band did well, I’d have the money to figure it all out. But my mom's been so great, and I felt guilty, like a burden, and I just couldn’t put  
any more of this… this shit on her, you know?”

“It’s not shit. It’s important. And I wanna help, ‘Trick.”

“Really? Are you sure? I mean…”

“Shush. Yes, I’m sure. I don’t want you to hurt yourself, or get infections, or skip therapy sessions, or anything. I want you to have the best of the best of everything you need.” His face was earnest, almost desperate. “I can’t bear to think of you being unhappy like this, feeling so alone, like you didn’t have friends to talk to, like you’re… so lost in your own body. I can’t imagine how you must have felt. I wish I could have been here before now.” Patrick just sniffled and wiped his face yet again. “And I want us to talk to Joe and Andy. I need us to be in this together. Please?”

“Well, yeah, especially if this van tour is happening. I kinda can’t hide my body or my testosterone shots then. I’m gonna have to start administering them myself soon.” Patrick was still trying to process that Pete wasn’t running away.

Pete’s eyes went wide. “You have to do it yourself?” Patrick nodded. “Well, is it easier if I help?”

“Maybe. Um, I have my next doctor’s appointment next month. Maybe you could come with me? Talk to my doctor and stuff?”

Pete took Patrick’s hands. “Yeah, sure, whatever you need me to do. I’ll do it. And that includes… us.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows. “Us? Um, well, is there an ‘us’?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t know how you’re feeling about that… we didn’t exactly get off to an auspicious start, but… I mean, whenever you feel ready, if you wanted to, yeah, I still wanna try.”

“You do? Really?” Patrick said, and there was that smile. The real one that lit up his face and made Pete’s heart flip.

“Yeah, I do. You know, whenever you feel like you want to. I wasn’t kidding when I said I love you.”

“I wasn’t, either,” Patrick murmured.

Pete chuckled. “You never said it.”

“I didn’t?” Patrick scratched his temple, befuddled. Pete shook his head. “Well, I uh, I do. Love you. Pete. And I did want you last night. I wanted more, so much, and I just… I didn’t want you to find out that way. I wanted the chance for us to talk, and… that just didn’t happen like I’d planned.”

Pete sighed with relief, then looked at his lap a moment. “Patrick?” His voice was soft, unsure.

“Yeah, Pete?”

“Um, will you tell me about… everything? What it was like for you before, what happened to you?” When Patrick’s face fell a little, Pete said, “Hey, no, I mean, you don’t have to, but, I… I just, I feel like there’s so much I don’t know. Uh, about you. So much about who you are and, like, what you went through, before we met. I want to know how you got to be Patrick.” Patrick opened his mouth to protest and Pete said, “I know, I get that you’ve always been Patrick, but… you know what I mean. I want to know how this expression of you, how my Patrick… got here. Does that make more sense?”

Patrick thought a moment, then said, “Yeah, I get it, and one day, I’ll tell you more, but just… not today. OK? Can we just kiss for a while today and not think about stuff?”

“Uh, we can, but uh… you’re kinda…”

Patrick looked down at his body. “Yeah, I know, I look kinda different.”

“You’re a little ripe, is what I was gonna say. Maybe you should clean up a little?” Pete gave a playful smile.

“Wow, we must be OK because you’re back to being a dick to me,” Patrick said as he got up. “OK, OK, I will.” He picked up the binder and said, “Should I wear this? When I come back?”

Pete shrugged as he leaned back on his hands. He looked at Patrick with adoring eyes. “Whatever you’d like.”

“OK. I’ll be back in a few.”

“I’ll be here,” Pete said, his voice low and full of longing.

******

Patrick stepped out of the shower and carefully dried himself off. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the sink, and for the first time in he didn't even know how long, he didn't immediately wince or feel sad.

_Pete isn't running away. He still loves me._

He threw a towel around himself and went back to grab clothes. Pete gawked openly for a second, and who could blame him, because wet naked Patrick , but he then did the proper thing and lowered his eyes and put a hand to his forehead.

“Uh, sorry,” he mumbled.

Patrick felt his face heating up and he said, “Yeah, uh, I'll be right back.” He paused before leaving, and he saw the packer on the floor. He thought for a minute, sighing loudly through his nose, and hugging his clothes against his front. Then, Pete's words echoed in his head.

_Whatever you'd like._

He grabbed it and brought it back to the bathroom.

He cleaned it off and powdered it, and put it on. He almost hadn't realized how much he'd missed it, just in the last day. He put his underwear and jeans on, then picked up the binder. It was white, nothing terribly fancy, but sturdy and much better than this last one. He wrapped it around himself, and did up the hooks on the side. When he put his t-shirt on, he turned to the side and threw his shoulders back.

His face lit up at the sight. The line was... it was right . Better than the ace bandages, by leagues, and it didn't hurt nearly as much.

Patrick didn't mind crying a little right now, since it was from being happy.

_Pete did this for me. I can't believe he'd do this just for me._

When he came back into his room and pulled a pair of socks on, Pete was sitting on the edge of his bed, flipping through a magazine.

“Feel better?” he asked.

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, a lot better. Pete, I don't know how to thank you for this. It's... It's the nicest thing anyone besides my mom has done for me.” He sat down next to Pete and took his hand, then put on a suspicious look. “And how exactly did you go from having a nervous breakdown in my hallway to pretty much the best ally ever in less than twenty-four hours?”

“Well, I may or may not have called my therapist at two in the morning, still having said nervous breakdown. I asked her what I should do, what I should say, how I should approach all this. I... I felt like I'd wandered into some weird bizarro world where my best friend isn't who he said he was, where the awesome guy I fell in love with didn't even exist, and then I thought of that look on your face, and how terrified you were, and I felt like an asshole for being pissed at you and for thinking those things, and a shitty friend for not knowing, or you not thinking I should know... and now... I mean, with the 'us' thing... I just needed a little help.”

“Yeah, I get that. I mean, I need help, and I'm the one, like, right in it. It's confusing and scary. And I know you're gonna screw up sometimes. I will, too, I'm sure. Especially right after my shots. I'm a mess for a day or so after.” Pete looked questioningly at him, so he went on, “I get really, like, moody and emotional and stuff, and God, so hungry. I'd probably either cry or punch you, or something.”

Pete laughed and put an arm around Patrick, pulling him close. “I'm sure if you flip on me, I will have deserved it.”

Patrick gave in to the comforting gesture and let his head fall on Pete's shoulder. “What did she say?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Pete replied, rubbing Patrick's shoulder.

“Your therapist. What did she say you should do?” Patrick felt like he was in heaven right now, with Pete's arm around him, and the comfort of the knowing.

“Well, be supportive, of course. And I told her I needed more than that. Like, how do I be supportive? How do I say the right things and make sure everything's about you and your comfort and, like, not putting my foot in my mouth?”

“There's no guarantees on that,” Patrick said with a little chuckle.

Pete sighed. “I know; she said that too. Basically, the main thing she tried to tell me at two a.m., while her worst patient was having a meltdown, was that no matter what I had to make sure you know that I understand that you are Patrick . You're not Patrick-who-used-to-be-a-girl or Patrick-with-tits or any of those things. She explained that that you've always been Patrick, no matter what you look like, and I had to remember that the girl-parts, the name you used to have, those aren't _you_. Like, they don't make you who you are. And while I was going to like, ten different stores looking for that binder—”

“Which is perfect, by the way, thank you,” Patrick interjected.

“—while I was looking for it, I did a lot of thinking, too, and I kinda figured out I already knew what she was trying to say, in a way. Um, like, all the things I fell in love with about you, like the way you sing, and your shyness, and your terrible fashion sense, and your taste in music, your rotten temper, and just... all of it... all of that had nothing to do with what kind of body you had. I mean, I don't care much about gender, anyway, which is no secret.”

Patrick snorted. “Not remotely. I was starting to wonder if you even cared about whether they had a pulse.”

“Are you calling me a slut?” Pete asked playfully.

“Probably,” Patrick ribbed.

“Anyway, yeah, I think you're beautiful, and, like, really sexy and stuff, and none of that's changed. Because I know you. Even in that one stupid moment last night when I felt like I didn't know anything, I still knew you, and I still knew I just wanted to find the right way to love you. And I think that's the real reason I freaked out. I had, like, a split-second to redefine my entire perception of you and myself, like, in relation to you. My brain just doesn't work quite that fast.”

“So, how do you perceive yourself in relation to me?” Patrick said softly.

Pete took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then guided himself and Patrick so they were lying side by side, Patrick curled up against Pete and Pete's arm around him, holding him close. Pete put his free hand under his head and spoke.

“Uh, well, basically, I was relying on being my usual charming self to, like, seduce you, or something—”

Patrick burst out laughing. “Seduce me? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Pete shook Patrick a little with the hand that was holding him. “You know what I mean. I'm _Pete_ , you know? I'm the cocky, outgoing guy with no shirt on half the time. I come on strong and I act like I own the world and that's how I, like, get people to like me, or fuck me, or whatever it is I'm looking for. And I thought that was how I had to get you to love me, and show that I was into you. I don't know.”

“I get it. And how do you feel now?”

“Now, I have to do everything differently. This isn't a matter of me getting what I want. This isn't about my willpower, or how good I look, or whatever. It's actually not about me, at all. It's about me giving you what you want and what you need. I mean, not that I wasn't planning on kinda doing that anyway, but, like, it's even more about that now.”

Patrick was silent for a minute, then said, “I think I know what you mean. You're always trying so hard to get people to understand you, but now you have to make sure you understand me, and you're new to not being the only complicated one, or even the most complicated one.”

Pete nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly it. How do you do that, 'Trick?”

“I'm magical,” Patrick said with a giggle.

Pete reached under Patrick's chin and turned his face upward. “I have suspected this all along,” he said with a grin. “I believe someone in this room said something about kissing for a while?”

Patrick raised a hand. “That would have been me, and I am still on board with this plan.”

******

Patrick and Pete called an emergency band meeting the next day at Patrick’s house. As everyone arranged themselves in the basement, Patrick felt his heart pounding. Pete sat himself behind Patrick, holding him protectively from behind. “You got this, and I got you.” He kissed Patrick’s temple. “Don’t worry, Baby.”

Andy looked at the two of them canoodling on the floor and said in an irritated tone, “Did you actually call a band meeting just to tell us you two are finally fucking?”

Patrick turned absolutely crimson, and Pete said, “We’re not fucking! We’re… dating? Are we dating?” Patrick nodded. “But… that’s only part of it. Patrick has something really, really important to say, and you have to be really supportive here and listen and be kind—”

“Pete, it’s OK. I appreciate you being protective, but try not to go overboard, please?” He patted Pete’s hand, but he was shaking all over, so Pete just squeezed him tighter. He cleared his throat.

“Um, so, OK, you guys know me as Patrick, and I’m a guy, but… you should know… I… um, I’m…”

“What? A criminal? You’re actually 85? Are you actually French? Don’t say you’re French,” Joe suddenly rambled, trying to fill the silence. “But besides that, just spit it out. It’s not like you’re gonna shock us.”

Patrick chuckled. “OK. I… I was born with female parts.” Andy and Joe suddenly entered a blinking contest.

Joe leaned forward on the sofa, peering more closely at Patrick. “Wait a minute, you can’t. You’re Patrick! Our sweet, innocent little Patrick!”

“And I’m still Patrick. I’ve always been Patrick.”

“But you were a girl,” Joe said.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You just said you were!”

“No, I said I was born with a vagina, but I’ve always been a guy.” Patrick was getting tense, defensive.

“Wait, does that mean you have both?”

“Did you smoke before you came over here?” Pete finally interjected.

Joe frowned. “Shut up,” he said defensively.

“So, you’re transgender,” Andy said.

“Yeah, I’m transforming my body to be more like a biological guy. I haven’t had any surgery yet, but I get testosterone shots.”

“So you still have tits?”

“JOE!” Pete snapped. “Stop it.”

Patrick took Pete’s hand over his heart. “It’s OK, Pete. He obviously has questions. I’m gonna answer them.” He took a deep breath. “I was born Lauren Vaughn Stumph on April 27, 1984. I had a female body, but ever since I could remember, I’ve always felt more like a boy. I tried to be a normal girl, wear dresses, all that, but I hated it. I always felt like my body was… twisted, or backward, or incomplete. I felt out of place inside myself all the time. When I was 15, I finally came out to my mother as transgender, and I told her I was a guy, and that my name was Patrick.”

“What did she say?” Andy asked.

“She freaked out. I had something like conversation you just heard me have with Joe, except that she was crying. I felt awful. I mean, couldn’t keep going like I was, but I was so scared of confusing my mother and upsetting her. She’s always been there for me, done everything for me, Kevin, and Megan, and I just didn’t want her thinking something was wrong with me, or God forbid, that any of it was, like, her fault, or something she did wrong, or whatever. You know, the things parents usually think. I’m just… I’m a guy. I’m trapped in this body for now, but I’m a guy. So she started going to counseling and support groups to learn to… you know, be supportive. And she’s been really, really awesome.

“And to answer your question, Joe, yes I still have, like, those parts. I wear what’s called a packer—a replica of guy parts in my crotch. And I bind my chest so I look more masculine. And the testosterone shots deepened my voice and made my hair thin. It’s also the main reason I’ve gained weight.”

Joe nodded. “So, basically, you’re still just Patrick.”

Pete threw his arms up. “Finally, he gets it!”

“And you’re also apparently dating Pete. Is that how he found out about all this?” Andy asked, ever the reasonable one.

Pete laughed, while Patrick blushed again. “Uh, kinda,” Patrick said. “It was kind of an accident, but it was for the best.” Pete squeezed Patrick closer and kissed behind his ear. “I had been avoiding this conversation for a while, but it really needed to happen. Especially since we’re looking at being crammed in a van for months at a time.”

“He’s gonna have to start giving himself testosterone shots,” Pete whined. “I just can’t imagine. I mean, I’ll probably help, but, just… it’s so much.”

Patrick nodded. “Make no mistake. This consumes my whole life all the time. Hiding this from you guys has been really difficult and really, really lonely.” He felt himself welling up, and he sniffled and wiped his nose.

Andy immediately extricated him from Pete’s grasp and hugged him. “Well, I’m glad you told us, Patrick, and I’ll do whatever I can to help. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Andy. Thanks.”

Joe put his feet up on the now-vacant sofa and said, “I’m not joining the love-in, but you’re my buddy, Patrick, and I’m here for you.”

“Thanks, Joe. I appreciate that.” Patrick gave him a smile over Andy’s shoulder.

Pete threw an errant sock at Joe’s head and said, “Stop thinking about his tits, Joe.”

Joe just gave a lazy shrug and said, “You got any snacks, dude?”

******

Pete still couldn’t believe his good luck. Not only was he in a band with this fiery little genius, his best friend and an unfathomable beauty, but they were in love, too. In love and kissing. Right now, on Pete’s bed. And Patrick was every bit as good at it as he’d seemed to Pete all along. The slippery, soft slide of their tongues… the warm, firm feeling of their lips pushing against one another, hungry and going back for more again and again… Patrick’s little moans and the way his long, pale hands were cradling Pete’s face and neck… God, Pete could do this forever.

Except for how he wanted more, so much more. He wanted to stretch Patrick out underneath him, naked and vulnerable, kiss every inch of his body… taste the sweat on the small of his back… he wondered whether Patrick wanted to be eaten out, whether they'd use toys, how Patrick would prefer to be fucked, if he'd prefer it at all… God, he couldn’t even wait to talk about it with him.

Pete was suddenly spinning inside, achingly hard and dizzy with all the possibilities. He’d done his share of research in recent weeks, and goddammit, he wanted all of it. Wanted to know what Patrick wanted, how to make him moan and come and scream Pete’s name. Before he knew it, Pete was coming in his pants, rutting against Patrick’s thigh like he was fifteen again.

“’Trick…” he panted against his boyfriend’s neck. “Tell me what you want. Tell me how to get you off. Please.”

He pulled back and looked at the younger boy, his face full of adoration. Patrick’s face was red and sweaty, his hat fallen off behind his head on the pillow. His eyes were dark with want, and his mouth hung open as he panted and swiveled his hips against Pete’s dampening waist. He was positively gorgeous. Still, Pete could see the hesitation on his face.

Pete kissed Patrick’s mouth and his cheeks, and let his thumb linger on Patrick’s jaw. “Can I… can I touch you? Can I try?” Patrick looked at the ceiling a moment, weighing his options. He closed his eyes, sighed deeply, and nodded. “Are you sure? Is this really alright with you?” Pete asked again.

Patrick nodded again. “Yeah, Pete. This is… this is my body right now. And it has...I, I have needs. I can’t wait until… whatever transitioning is gonna happen before I learn to... like, share myself with someone. With you.”

“OK, ‘Trick,” Pete whispered, low and gravelly, “I’m gonna try some stuff, and see if you like it. Just tell me if you don’t though, and, y’know, standard disclaimer, I promise I’ll stop. OK?” During this sentence, Pete had gone from looking in awe at Patrick’s body to meeting his eyes, serious and expectant.

“Yeah, OK, Pete, I trust you,” Patrick whispered.

Pete sighed with relief and slowly slid his hands up Patrick’s shirt. Patrick’s breath audibly (and visibly) picked up as he made his way to the breast binder, and Pete thought he might come again at the sight of the blush making its way down Patrick’s collarbone and toward his chest. He grazed his knuckles over the damp skin there, and then moved to the side of the binder, undoing the hooks one by one, pausing a beat between each one to give Patrick the chance to protest. He didn’t, just let Pete work, smirking a little at the way his intense honey gaze kept darting between the hooks and Patrick’s eyes. He just put an arm under his head and put his other hand in Pete’s  
hair.

“Go ahead,” he whispered. “I’m OK, really. I want you to.”

Pete smiled, finally feeling a little freer, easier, knowing Patrick wanted this, wanted him to do it. He undid all the hooks and opened the binder, revealing Patrick's breasts. They were just about a handful, maybe a B-cup, by Pete’s estimation, and they were milky and round, with perfect, raised pink nipples. There was the beginning of some chest hair between them. Pete just stared, completely in awe.

“Pete?” Patrick asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Everything OK?”

Pete nodded, his eyes never leaving Patrick’s newly exposed chest. “Yeah, just… wow, Patrick,I…" He looked back up into the younger boy’s face. “You’re beautiful, you know? I just… I can’t believe you’re choosing me.”

Patrick smirked, put a hand on Pete’s face, and said, “Well, I am, so shut up and do something before I go home and take care of it myself.”

“Yessir,” Pete whispered, then lowered his mouth to one rosy nipple while he rolled the other between his thumb and forefinger. He fought back a smug grin as Patrick suddenly was gasping and canting his hips upward against Pete’s body. With one hand, he pressed Pete’s face further against his chest, and the other was clutching the pillowcase beside his head.

As Patrick’s small, graceful body arched up against Pete’s, he slid a hand under the middle of Patrick’s back, holding him closer. With the other, he trailed lower, over Patrick’s soft belly, to the waist of his jeans. He deftly unbuttoned them and slid his hand under the waistband of Patrick’s underwear, avoiding the packer and going straight for his clit.

“God, Pete,” Patrick choked out, followed by a low, throaty moan. He was opening his legs wider and planting his feet, rocking upward into Pete’s touch. He was soaking already, the hot electric pleasure like nothing he’d ever felt before. “Pete, oh, God, Pete…” Pete slid two fingers downward, circling and exploring until Patrick gasped, “God, there, don’t stop, there,” and clenched down, hot and wet, thrusting onto Pete’s hand and loosing little sobbing moans as he came.

Pete placed a kiss over Patrick’s heart before collapsing beside him. He trailed his fingers over Patrick’s belly, looking at his body. “I love you,” he murmured.

Patrick wasn’t sure why, but he was tearing up. “Yeah? Like this?”

“Hey, hey, don’t do that. I don’t care about that, ‘Trick. I care about you. I wanna do everything with you. As long as there’s some way to get you excited and get you to come, I don’t care what it is.”

“And if I decide I wanna peg you?” Patrick challenged.

Pete shrugged. “Then I’d let you peg me, Patrick. If that’s what you want, we’ll try it. If you want a rhinoceros and tapioca pudding, I’m in, as long as I’m with you. I promise, I don’t care. I just... you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen, and I don't know if it's bad that I like your tits and I like touching your pussy, but I do because it's what you have right now and it's what gets you squirming and making all those awesome noises. But I mean, it's like... if you wanna stay like this, then I wanna work with this. And if you wanna change stuff, I’ll work with that, too. Patrick, can you please say something and let me know if I’m saying the right things, here? I mean, I never know if something I say is gonna be, like, wrong, or offensive, or erasing you? Is that the term?”

Patrick laughed and stroked Pete’s hair. “Yeah, ‘erasing’ is a thing, and no you’re not doing that. You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re trying, Pete. You’re trying to get it and you’re doing fine. You’re right, this is what we have now, and we’re gonna work with it until I decide to do otherwise. I just… I get kinda down on myself and I, I haven’t done stuff like this because I was afraid that you… or whoever… would want me to stay this way, or start trying to make those decisions for me based on what they saw or decided they liked. And, like, I know you wouldn't do that, but... it's still just a little scary sometimes. Because I do love you, a lot, and... I couldn't stand it if... if...”

Pete leaned up and kissed Patrick’s mouth. “I know. But, I promise, I like you. Like, all of this. I like knowing I can make you feel this way, whatever it takes.”

“I know. I get it, kinda, and I swear the rest of my brain will catch up eventually.”

Pete leaned his head back on Patrick’s shoulder and squeezed him. “I’ll be here.”

******

Dr. Beckett came into the exam room, and was pleased to see Patricia in with Patrick, but showed surprise at the young man holding Patrick's hand, until realization dawned on him.

“Well, good afternoon, Patrick.” He cocked a knowing eyebrow. “And who might this be?”

Pete snapped to attention and immediately thrust a hand out. “Uh, afternoon, Doc. I'm Pete.”

Dr. Beckett shook Pete's hand and gave a friendly chuckle. “Ah, so this is the infamous Pete I've heard so much about?” He eyed Patrick mischievously as he said this.

Pete gave his boyfriend the fiercest puppy-dog look in the history of mankind. If there were a facial expression that could say _Awwwwww honest and for true? That's so awesome oh my God I didn't think I could love you more but goddammit then you have to be all cute and tell your doctor about your crush on me aww awww_  
 _awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww_ then that exact look was written all over Pete's face.

Patrick, meanwhile, turned absolutely purple and looked at his draped lap, shrugging. “Uh, yeah, Dr. Beckett, this is Pete. Um, he's, uh, he's my boyfriend now. We talked, about, um, everything.”

The doctor put a hand on Patrick's shoulder. “That's wonderful. And obviously, I'm guessing Pete's been... supportive?”

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, he's uh, really great, actually.” He finally chanced a glance at Pete, who still had that completely gaga look on his face.

“Well, uh, I'm trying. I'm sure I'm not perfect, but um, I'm uh, I'm gonna do my best. Patrick is...” He swallowed and sighed. “Well, Patrick's pretty much the best person ever.”

“You won't think so tomorrow,” Patrick shot back, a bit darkly.

Pete sighed and squeezed Patrick's hand. “You keep saying that. I've seen you flip out and be totally pissy before. We nearly came to blows more than once. And not even in a good way.”

Patricia snorted a little, but Dr. Beckett remained reticent. “Oh, uh, sorry, Doc, and uh, Mom, I, uh, I don't always know when to shut up.”

“That's alright, Pete. I was a young man once, too, don't forget,” he said good-naturedly. “But Patrick is quite right, this is a little different than your average bad day. Patrick is, in pretty much every way, a normal, hormonal teenager, but on top of it we're adding yet another hormone that his body wasn't born with at these levels, and the initial surge is rather difficult for the body to manage right away. After one or two days, it evens out, but in the meantime, frankly, I typically recommend near-solitary confinement.”

Pete put a protective arm around Patrick and jutted his chin a little. “No way,” he said firmly. “I don't care how bad it is. If Patrick is hurting, I wanna be there to help however I can.”

“Patrick is right here,” Patrick chimed in, already getting irritated. “And Patrick is saying that it really is pretty awful, Pete, but if you really think you can take it...”

“If I'm gonna help you with this, then I kinda have to, don't I?” he said, a little more tenderly.

Then, Dr. Beckett unsheathed the syringe and began drawing up the shot while Pete stared, wide-eyed.

“Jeez Louise, look at that thing.”

“Well, the solution is oil-based and it needs to go deep into the muscle, so the needle needs to be a bit bigger than what you might see for your average flu shot,” the doctor explained.

Pete looked at Patrick, who was looking pointedly back at Pete and not at the syringe. “Does it hurt very much?” Patrick nodded, his eyes a little glassy. He bit his lips back and inhaled sharply as he felt the pinch and burn in his thigh. Pete squeezed his hand a bit. He kept his eyes on Patrick's face as he said, “Doctor, um, does it always have to go in the same side, or do you switch back and forth?”

“That's an excellent question, Pete. There are options. It can go in the thigh muscles or the buttocks, but thigh is often a bit simpler, especially for someone as small as Patrick who just has more muscle tissue to work with in his legs than in his backside.”

“Are you insinuating that I have no ass, Dr. Beckett?” Patrick asked in a smarmy tone.

Dr. Beckett put a bandaid over the puncture wound and laughed. “Anyway, for comfort, it's best to alternate each time, no matter which route of entry you choose. You don't want to overtraumatize one area.”

Pete nodded. “OK, I can remember that. Um, 'Trick? When do you usually start feeling shitty? Oh, uh, sorry... again...”

“It's perfectly alright, Pete. Don't worry so much. I think, if I remember correctly, it's usually worst the following day? Right?” Dr. Beckett eyed Patrick as he spoke.

Patrick nodded, looking at his lap. “Uh, yeah, I usually get really angry the day after, and then by that night I'm weepy, then I'm OK again by, like, the next afternoon or so.”

“Don't you have school tomorrow?” Pete asked.

“Yeah, but I can handle being pissy at school, where I can just ignore everyone, but not when I'm gonna be around you guys. So I usually choose a time when we don't have band practice, or gigs or anything, for a couple of days.”

Dr. Beckett spent the rest of the visit showing Pete, Patrick, and Patricia how to draw up and administer the injections, what to watch for, and so on.

The ride back to Patrick's was silent. Pete held Patrick's hand, giving a squeeze every now and then, but Patrick just bit his lip and looked either at his lap or out the window, seeming to brace himself for the inevitable.

“Would you like to stop somewhere for dinner, boys?” Patricia asked gently, eyeing them via the rearview.

Patrick nodded, looking somehow even sadder. “Yeah, I'm getting hungry.”

Patrick's eyes never left the menu, or the table. He was barely audible as he ordered, and looked stiff and uncomfortable through the entire meal. He leaned close to his plate, looking like he was in physical pain as he took careful, deliberate bites, stopping once exactly every three to drink some of his Coke. Pete kept looking over at him, moving his mouth silently to try and formulate a way to ask if he was OK. Patricia caught Pete's gaze and gave him an almost imperceptible head shake and a downward nod toward Pete's plate.

_Leave him alone. Just eat._

Pete indicated he got it and went back to his cheeseburger.

Patrick ultimately inhaled his dinner and then ice cream on top of it, his face crimson the entire time, almost pained. Pete wanted to just fucking do something, make Patrick feel OK, but he couldn't even ask what was bothering him.

“Am I holding you up?” Patrick suddenly asked, and Pete almost recoiled from the sheer fury in his eyes.

Pete looked at the table and realized he'd been idly drumming his fingers as he sat. “No, no of course not,” he said, wide-eyed. “I was just... kinda lost in thought. I didn't even know I was doing that. Sorry.”

Patrick went back to drinking the melted chocolatey soup at the bottom of his bowl while Patricia paid the waitress. “Ready to go?” They both nodded, Patrick clenching his jaw.  
As soon as they were home, Patrick marched up to his room. Patricia took Pete's hand with a pleading look. “I'll, uh, I'll be up in a minute, if you want.” Patrick shrugged and kept walking.

Patricia pulled him to the kitchen and sat him down, then sat across from him.

“This won't be easy, you know,” she said, low and urgent. “He'll act like he hates you, like you've betrayed him horribly just by being... the gender you are, or the build you are, or whatever. And his appetite just shoots through the roof, and sometimes he'll go with it, but other times, he'll fight it, because he gets ashamed. He doesn't want to be that way, and he already has misgivings about... what he looks like and so on, so then he'll be even moodier. But the best thing you can do is give him space and just don't try to coddle or assuage him. I know you're a good boy, and you mean well, but I also know that backing off isn't your strong suit, and in this case, you really just  
need to let him call the shots and tell you what he needs, OK?”

Pete scoffed lightly. “You're making it sound like he's possessed, or like a wild beast, or something. It's just Patrick .”

“I'm just trying to prepare you for the fact that he really will seem like a completely different person at these times. I mean, I've had him end up not speaking to me for two days because I asked if he was hungry. You'll try to help and he'll twist it in his head. He can't help it. Just... let him tell you what he needs.”

Then Pete flashed on the way Patrick's eyes had bored holes in him at the restaurant. All because he was drumming his fingers. “I think I get it. I'll be careful.” Pete got up from the table and went to leave, but then he turned back. “Uh, Mom?” Patricia looked at him with a kind half smile. “Uh, I just want you to know, that, um, I really do love Patrick, and... I'm gonna do my best to be really good to him. I promise.” He crossed his heart with his finger with a half-hearted grin.

Patricia got up and went to him, then took his shoulders and kissed his cheek. “I know, Pete. Believe me, I've always known.”

******

Fall Out Boy's maiden voyage in the shitbox van was, all told, going pretty well. Pete helped Patrick with his injections, and the other boys all made sure to steer clear for the following day. The next night afterward, Patrick would almost inevitably burst into tears over something. Sometimes it was a perceived slight, like the gas station where they stopped being out of Flamin' Hot Cheetos, or feeling like the attendant was staring at him when he asked for the men's room key, or one of his t-shirts being stained with bong water. Sometimes, he would burst into tears in a good way and thank the guys for being so understanding and so cool about everything, for helping him out and not judging or kicking him out.

Either way, though, the guys had learned that tears were the cue that the tide was ebbing and Patrick would be back to zero in the morning.

What they weren't prepared for was a basement show where the kids tried to pull Patrick into the crowd during “Dead on Arrival”.

The show was awesome. Everyone was really into it, and the kids were moshing and shouting the lyrics at the top of their lungs. Pete stopped playing and launched himself into the crowd to thrash around with their fans, and then someone threw an arm around Patrick's shoulders and started singing into his mic with him. He missed a chord and then finally gave up playing, and was struck with a brilliant idea. He shrugged off the kid's arm and threw his arms up, clapping over his head  
to get everyone else doing the same. Joe launched right into it, along with the young guy who had tried to join them. They chanted the chorus once through, and then Patrick, Joe, and Andy started up again to run through it a final time. The kid got a little amped, though, and tried to hug Patrick and pull him into the crowd by his waist, where it was all grabbing hands and shoving arms. Patrick panicked and shoved the kid off of him with a yelp, but then someone else grabbed at his t-shirt.

He elbowed the person, without looking or caring who it was. “DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!” he shouted.

He stumbled back to his mic and finished the song, then shot a glare at the crowd before they launched into Saturday. Patrick practically pantomimed his way through, playing and singing stiffly, robotically, for fear someone would try to grab him again. The crowd was a lot more subdued, a little stunned by Patrick's behavior, until Pete started screaming at the end and waded back in among them, hi-fiving and shaking hands.

When they closed out the set, Pete was still panting into his mic. “Uh, ha-ha, yeah, you gotta keep your hands off my Golden Ticket, there. He's a delicate baby lamby and I need that voice intact.”

The crowd laughed, and Patrick felt his ears burning as he made his way offstage to start packing up. As soon as they were back on the road, Patrick huddled against the window, silent. He flinched when he felt an arm around him, but relaxed a little when he realized it was Pete. “You OK, Rickster?”

Patrick shrugged, his face still stony. “I'm not a delicate baby lamby,” he said indignantly.

Pete laughed. “I know that, Baby. You're tough as any g---as anyone.” He paused and bit his lip as he winced a little, preparing for Patrick to jump all over his slip-up. Mercifully, it seemed the younger boy was willing to let it go. For now, anyway. “I know you can hold your own, and, like, you don't need protecting, and stuff, but... I... I want to, anyway. And... I mean, I felt like, like I had to say something. I don't know.” He breathed a great sigh as he realized Patrick was not going to give him any kind of reprieve on this one. “I'm sorry. I just... I wasn't prepared for something like that. I just... I do want to protect you. From the world. From everyone. I can't help it.”

Patrick closed his eyes. “You still think of me as a girl.” It wasn't a question. His voice was quiet, and there was a tremor in it.

“I think of you as Patrick. I don't care what that means, like, gender-wise. I care about you. You're just... you."

"I'm a fucking boy, Pete. A guy. A dude. A gay-as-fuck young man who's stupidly in love with his hopeless dumbass of a bassist." The anger was fading from his voice as he spoke, and Pete could feel the tension releasing in his body.

Pete rolled his eyes. "Anyway, you're better than all those kids. To tell you the truth, I don't want any of them to touch you. They don't deserve to.”

“Shut up. If one of them had grabbed just an inch higher... they wouldn't understand...”

Pete kissed his shoulder. “Shhh. They didn't. You stood up for yourself. You set your boundaries. It doesn't matter whether anyone else likes it, not even me.” He said that part with obvious reluctance. “If you don't want to be touched, that's your decision.”

“But I do, kinda, like a little bit. I do want to be able to do those things. Hug fans, wear non-baggy shirts and stuff, without worrying about any of this.” Patrick waved a hand at himself and sighed.

“I just... I'm gonna have to make some decisions, and, like, fast.”

“No. Not fast. Don't do that. Think about it and take as long as you need. Like I said, everyone can stay the hell away from you until then. I think I kinda like that better.”

Patrick chuckled through his nose and nudged Pete with his shoulder. “Of course you do, you selfish bastard.” There was no venom in it, only love. Pete just hugged his boyfriend closer while Joe drove them onward.

******

Pete was on the Fall Out Boy website, leafing through fan questions. Most of them were nice, and he was glad to see their interest and enthusiasm, but he was sure as hell glad Patrick wasn't here to read some of them. As a rule, Patrick didn't read fan submissions. He was still too nervous to know what they thought of him. Pete tried to filter the good stuff for him to read, but still felt the need to stick up for him a little bit and put out there that dissing his Patrick was NOT COOL.

Fans were, for the most part, awesome, but some of them were rude or tried to get way too personal. A couple of them made Pete grind his teeth.

_Why did Patrick suck balls on FUSE?_

_I heard Patrick punched a fan who tried to hug him or something. Is that true? What a dick._

_go to quizilla .com search patrick stump and theres this gross story about patrick...........um....yeah_

Pete's fingers worked furiously as he replied to each one in turn:

_that kid is my bestfriend, i don't care if you're a girl i'd still punch you in the mouth if you said that_ _to my face. have a nice day._

_patrick elbowed a fan who grabbed him and pulled him into a fucking moshpit against his will_ _while he was still tryin to finish performing a song. he's not a dick, he was just sticking up for_ _himself. you would too if someone just grabbed you out of nowhere. dont be an ass_

_patrick doesnt do gross things. his body is made up of kittens, saturdays, 70 degree weather, first_ _kisses and butterflies. trust me, i cut that bitch open once to check_

Pete slammed the chair back behind him as he stood up forcefully, gritting his teeth. The chair crashed into the door of the office just as Patrick was trying to open it.

“Jesus, Pete, what the fuck?” he cried as the door slammed back against his nose. He opened it again and stepped around the wheeled office chair that was now blocking his path. “What the hell is your problem?”

But Pete had already gone into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Patrick went to the computer screen, against his better judgment, and scanned the questions. He smirked lovingly at some of Pete's answers. How one man can be so creative and clever, Patrick would never know.

When Patrick read the last three questions, he felt his heart drop and his eyes sting.

“Patrick, no,” Pete said gently from behind him. Patrick hadn't even realized he'd come back into the room, he'd been so mortified. “Hey, don't read that shit.”

“They attack me for defending myself?” Patrick said, his voice wavering. He turned on Pete, tears in his eyes. “And why did you call me a 'bitch'?”

“I didn't,” Pete defended. Patrick scoffed. “Not really. I just threw that in there for, like... I don't know, comedic value or something. Like how I sometimes call Andy 'bitch' when I beat him at Halo, or something. It's just, like... a term of endearment or something, in like, that dude way where we just kinda make fun of each other.”

Patrick shoved Pete's shoulder and said, “Bullshit. You've never beaten Andy at Halo. No one can beat Andy at Halo.” His lower lip was jutted out and trembling. “And don't talk to me like I don't know what it's like to be a guy, or GOD, like it's somehow your job to teach me about it or some shit. Fuck's sake, do you even think about what you say before you say it?”

“Jesus Christ, Patrick, I meant the four of us are all guys and we rag on each other. That's all. What the fuck is with you? Did you just have your shot, or something?”

Patrick took a swing at Pete and missed, thanks to Pete's quick reflexes. When their eyes met again, Patrick growled, “Fuck you. That's as bad as asking me if I'm on the fucking rag. I have every right to be pissed. Don't you fucking try to say my feelings don't matter or... like, they aren't rational or something just because of who I am.”

“What? Patrick, no one is saying that. No one is making this about you and 'who you are' except for you. Seriously, why are you jumping all over me?”

“I knew I shouldn't have done the fucking band. I should have known they'd all hate me and talk shit about me and want to pick me apart like some circus freak. I hate this!”

“THEN DON'T DO IT!” Pete roared. Patrick stopped and stared at Pete, stunned. “If you're really this fucking miserable, don't do the band. Go home. Find something else to do. Go to college or some shit, I don't know. But don't come here and jump all over me just for the choice YOU made. I'm so fucking sick of being blamed for everything that's bothering you. I do everything I can to show how much I love you and how amazing you are, how much you belong in this band. Joe and Andy pretty much do everything but fall on the ground before you. We love you and we do want you, but if you don't want it, and you don't believe in it anymore, then fucking quit. I'm done babying you. But whatever you do, it's YOUR choice and it's YOUR life.”

He left the room and slammed the door, then went noisily down the stairs.

Patrick waited a minute, then went downstairs and out the door without another word.

******

Late into that night, Pete was just settling in for a good night's insomnia with his computer when he heard his phone buzz. It was Patrick.

_Pete lemme in I need to talk to you_

He looked at the clock. It was 2:10am. _What the hell?_

He stood and scratched his belly, then went down to the front door, where Patrick stood with his hands shoved in his pockets. He rubbed the top of one bright sneaker against the back of the opposite calf as he looked down at the threshold between them.

“Trick, what is it?” Pete asked, trying to crane down and get Patrick to meet his gaze without touching him.

“Can I come in?” he asked sounding a weird combination of hesitant and impatient.

Pete blinked a couple of times, then said, “Yeah, of course." He backed up so Patrick could come in and close and lock the door behind him. Pete waved a beckoning hand and the two boys went upstairs to Pete's room.

They sat on the bed, each with a knee tucked up so they could face each other. “What's really wrong, Patrick?” Pete said.

Patrick took a deep breath and said, “Look, I'm sorry about earlier. You were dead on, though, about everything. But, anyway, um, I, uh, made some decisions... about stuff... and I uh, just... thought I should let you know. Um, just... I don't know, I wanted you to know.”

Pete felt his heart rate pick up. _Please don't break up with me. Please don't quit the band. I need you_ , he thought. “OK,” he prodded.

“Well, uh, I was gonna talk about this earlier, but that didn't happen, obviously." Patrick gave a weak little laugh. "So, uh, I decided I definitely want the top surgery, y'know,” he waved a hand at his chest. “I, uh, I think that will be, like, manageable and simple enough, you know, but, I... I don't think I want to have the surgery... down there,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“No? How come?” Pete asked.

Patrick gritted his teeth a moment, then said evenly, “Well, it's... uh, not something I really wanna describe, but, um, it's risky and complicated and I just don't think I could manage with our schedule, and just with, like, me, like, how I am. I think... I think toys and devices are gonna be my best bet. They're lower-risk and pretty easy to use, and... and... just...” He breathed out a great sigh. “Please tell me you're OK with this?”

Pete shifted closer and took Patrick's hand. “Me? 'Trick, I... Of course I'm OK with it. It's your body. It's, like, really not my decision. But... are you OK with it?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said quietly. “I am. And... I hated that I wanted to ask your opinion so badly, and I think that's part of why I flipped out so bad, but...I don't know, you're, like, involved, whatever, and I needed to know that you wouldn't be, like, weirded out or grossed out or... I don't know, any type of 'out' feeling.”

Pete shook his head. “It doesn't bother me, or weird me out or anything.” After a pause, he said, “So that means you still want to do the band? You're not leaving?”

Patrick shook his head with a smile. “I'm not leaving. Not the band, and not you. I love you, Pete.”

Pete leaned over and kissed Patrick softly, tangling their fingers together on the bedspread. “I love you, too, 'Trick. Please don't scare me like that again.”

Patrick shrugged. “I still can't believe there's someone who's scared of losing me. I'll try not to, though.”

They lay down together, Pete spooning Patrick close against his belly, and drifted off to sleep.

******

When their album started gaining attention, they finally got signed to Island Records. Patrick celebrated by finally booking top surgery with the advance money, since his sparkly new health insurance had decided that any reassignment surgery was “elective”.

“They wouldn't say that if they knew what it was like,” he'd grumbled to his mother as he hung up the phone with the insurance agent.

She hugged him and said, “Well, thank goodness you're in a position where you can afford it, then. Patrick, I'm so proud of you.”

Patrick blushed and pulled the bill of his cap lower as soon as she released him and mumbled, “Thanks, Mom. You know, for standing by me while we did this. I know it's been a lot to ask.”

She just kissed his cheek and shook her head, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world that she would.

He also finally changed his name and gender legally with the state. When he got to Pete's house with his new driver's license indicating him as a male named Patrick Martin Stumph, Pete grabbed him into a hug.

“Well, at least now we can put that on the marriage license,” he said with a grin and an elbow to Patrick's ribs.

Patrick elbowed him back and said, “Way to jump the gun, Wentz.”

******

Unfortunately, though, their status as Chicago Indie Emo darlings meant more exposure and scrutiny. Patrick continued layering up and not really speaking during interviews, mainly awaiting his surgery date, but Alternative Press wanted a fucking cover story on them in the meantime. They hadn't even finished the new album for Island, but AP really wanted them anyway.

“We're still just playing school basements,” Patrick whined to the guys. “This makes no sense.”

Joe threw an arm around Patrick and said, “Don't sweat. You're just worried about too many eyes on you. It'll be cool. Pete will hog all the attention, anyway. It's kinda what he does best.”

“Thanks a lot, Troh. Love you, too,” Pete said with a sarcastic eye roll. “I do all this to protect my beautiful little Pattycakes! I'm taking one for the team, you know!”

“We know that, Pete, and it's a smart move,” Andy said in his usual peacekeeper fashion. “You're a natural attention-getter, and it works.”

Patrick breathed a sigh of relief when he was only needed for a couple of photos, and didn't need to talk much.

However, when he got into the t-shirt they handed him, he looked at himself in the mirror and blanched. It was so tight that he could see the lines of the binder clearly under the fabric.

He put his own shirt back on with a curse under his breath and opened the door to where the wardrobe consultant stood and said to her, “I, uh, I n-need a bigger size. This doesn't fit.” He thrust the offending garment back at her, his face crimson. She shrugged and walked off into the racks, then came back with another one and handed it back to him. This one was better, but Patrick's heart was still hammering under his chest the whole time they styled his hair and put makeup on him. He averted his eyes to look at Pete in the mirror. Patrick's face was pure fear, but Pete just winked and grinned at him as they finished up.

The photographer led them to their positions, and put his hands on Patrick's shoulders to pose him. Patrick shrugged the man's hands off of him and snapped, “Just tell me what you want me to do.” Then, he took a deep breath and said, “I'm sorry, I meant, can you please not touch me?” He measured each word out, looking downward at his balling fists. The photographer cleared his throat and went on instructing Patrick, along with everyone else. Patrick stole a glance at his torso again, hoping the binder wasn't obvious, and then Pete positioned his shoulder in front of Patrick's, moving him back a little.

When they saw the proofs, Patrick breathed a sigh of relief to know the barcode was going right over the front of him. Still, this was big. This meant he was going to have to be even more careful to keep the attention off of himself.

******

The day finally fucking arrived.

Patrick sat on a bed under the covers and hugged himself tightly in his hospital gown, while Pete sat in a chair and wondered what exactly he should do or say.

He drummed his fingers on his knees and finally just murmured, “Are you nervous?”

The younger boy nodded. “Yeah, a little, but mostly I just want it done.”

“Me, too. I fucking hate this part.” Pete looked at his lap.

“You hate this part? So sorry to inconvenience you,” Patrick snapped, leaning forward a little. “This isn't really about you, you know. You don't even have to be here.”

“Relax,” Pete retorted, then sighed. “Look, 'Trick, um, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do or say right now. I'm glad you're getting the things you need, you know? But, like, I'm a little scared for you, just because, like hospitals and surgery, like, ugh, but...” He sniffled and hugged his knees up into the chair. “OK, I'm a lot scared. I... I don't want anything bad to happen to you. I hate hospitals, OK?”

Patrick sighed and shook his head, then reached a hand out toward Pete, who took it instinctively without looking. “I know. I'm scared, too. But it's gonna be OK. I'm still gonna be the same pissy little jerkface when this is all over.”

Pete laughed and moved to sit on the bed. “You are kind of a pissy jerkface, but you're my pissy jerkface, and I'm in love with you.” He took Patrick's face in his hands and kissed his mouth.

When they pulled back, Patrick murmured, “I'm in love with you, too, Pete. Thanks for... y'know... sticking with me and, like, dealing with all this. I'm sorry I've been a pissy jerkface.”

“It's OK, I understand.”

Just then the nurse came to wheel Patrick in. He held Pete's hand until they stopped Pete at the OR doors. Pete watched the doors close between him and his boyfriend, and pressed his hands over his own heart.

Please just let him be OK.

******

Patrick came through fine. He'd been sure to lay down his guitar parts before the surgery, but went right back to finishing vocals and helping Neal with production and mastering as soon as the two weeks were up and he was cleared for light duty. Pete watched him work tirelessly, knowing there was surgical draining equipment and still-healing wounds under his clothes and in complete awe of how he never once mentioned it or complained. Even when Patrick and Pete were alone and it was time to clean and change the bandages, all he ever did was thank Pete for being there and helping him.

For Pete, though, it was getting harder and harder to see this much of Patrick's body and touch him in those hidden, sensitive areas, even in such a clinical way. Pete couldn't help that when he was sharing these private moments, he wanted more. He ached for it. He loved this beautiful, brilliant creature, even at his weakest, even at his bitchiest, and he definitely, desperately wanted to fuck him.

Every time he opened his mouth to broach the subject, though, it caught in his throat like half-swallowed long spaghetti. He felt choked when he looked at Patrick sometimes, as he fought with whether to say anything or not. It consumed his every thought, ever since that first conversation in his room, seemingly forever ago. They hadn't really talked about it again since, but Pete really wanted to. He didn't know how to bring it up without making Patrick feel pressured or embarrassed, or immediately presuming that Pete would want it a certain way.

In short, for the first time in his life, Pete wanted to discuss sex with his partner without sounding like a pushy bastard.

He cared what Patrick thought, and, like Patrick had pointed out when they'd first gotten together, Pete wasn't used to being the only one screaming to be understood, to have  
his feelings heard and taken seriously. It was starting to interfere with his ability to be close or physically intimate with Patrick, in fact. Whenever they would make out, Pete refused to go any further than the touching they'd established before. Patrick agreed, in a sort of resigned way, but Pete knew he couldn't keep the discussion at bay for long. Patrick was finally happy with his body, and seemed hurt that Pete kept stopping them from going further, from sharing in that together.

They'd celebrated working on their major label debut by going out for drinks. Pete bought for Patrick and Joe, and by the time Pete was pulling Patrick into a cab, they were both pleasantly tipsy.

“I love you,” Patrick murmured against Pete's shoulder. His cheeks were red and his whole body was warm. Pete could feel it through both of their clothes, and he knew Patrick was sweating. The back of his neck was damp and his hands were a little clammy as he took one of Pete's hands between them.

Pete pressed a kiss to the top of Patrick's hat and said, “I love you too, Rickster.”

As soon as they were inside Pete's house and in his room, Patrick was kissing him heatedly. It was a little sloppy, but there was a neediness behind it that Patrick usually didn't show, and Pete was holding onto him for dear life, kissing him back with just as much desire.

As Pete was running his tongue over the younger boy's throat, Patrick gasped, “Pete... oh, God, Pete.”

“Need you,” Pete whispered back. “God, I want you so bad, 'Trick.” Patrick's hands were sliding under Pete's shirt, and he was suddenly starting to feel like his dick was about to take over all the decision making for him. He couldn't let it happen that way. He took Patrick's wrists and pulled them off his body, then held them up near his face. “Patrick, wait. Just wait a minute.”

“What is it, Pete?” he asked. His face was pure hurt and confusion. “Do... do you not want me anymore?” His eyes were welling up as he spoke.

“No! That's not it at all,” Pete breathed, palming Patrick's cheek. “Were you not even listening a minute ago? I want you so bad it makes me dizzy. I want you more than anything. I just... I want to make sure everything is right, you know? I feel like... I don't know, like we need to figure out logistics or something.”

Now Patrick threw his head back and laughed. “Logistics? You do have the basic grasp of the birds and the bees, right? I mean, you have done this before?”

“Yeah, of course I have. But... we have... a lot of options, you know? And, like, I just, um, I wanna make sure whatever we do is what you want and what makes you... y'know, feel like you, or whatever. I... I don't wanna end up doing anything that'll make you feel wrong, or out of place, or like I don't see you as a guy... Patrick you're letting me babble again. Can you please interject and help me out here?”

Pete's hands were shaking. “Jesus, you're really scared,” Patrick observed.

Pete nodded and swallowed hard. “I've never loved anyone as much as I love you, and I've never been so scared to mess anything up as I am now. I...”

He was cut off by Patrick's mouth kissing him softly. “Pete, calm down. Breathe, Baby.” He waited while Pete closed his eyes, took some deep breaths, then looked Patrick in the face. “Look, I appreciate that you wanna be cautious and you're, like, all protective and stuff, but... just relax, OK? I made the decision not to change anything down there, and I did it for reasons. One of those was I didn't want to take even the slightest chance of any kind of damage. I didn’t want anything getting in the way for us. I have... this.” He gesticulated feebly at his crotch, then took a breath and said, “This is my body, it is what it is, and we're going to fuck. At some point. If you don't want to right now, that's fine, but goddammit I want your dick in me before I start collecting Social Security. That doesn't make me any less of a guy. Hell, even if I had a dick, I might still wanna bottom, who knows? What's the difference of an inch or two?”

“It's a huge difference, and you know it. It's the difference between acknowledging your lack of penis, and how that makes you feel, versus proceeding as if you didn't have... what you have... and doing other things, and how that makes you feel.”

“OK you're right. This might be hormones and alcohol talking. I don't know. But, Pete, I want you. I, God, I need you so much, and... I don't care how it happens. I just wanna go by whatever feels good, and we'll just have to go through a some trial and error before we find what works, but.. fuck, you're beautiful and sexy and I want to make love with you. I mean, shit, you changed bandages and saw my post-op drainage tubes, and you never even flinched. And that's the hard stuff. This is supposed to be the easy stuff, the natural stuff people do when they're in love.”

Pete nodded now, eyes wide and sincere. “You're right. I know it. I... I just don't ever want to be part of something you regret. Hell, I never want you to regret anything at all.”

“Pete, that's impossible. I can’t go through life never regretting anything ever, but I also could never regret being with you.” Patrick smiled, full and genuine, and leaned in again and kissed Pete's mouth. “Please, don’t be afraid. You don’t have to be so careful all the time. Sometimes I just wanna be normal. I know this stuff is… it’s hard and it’s tiring and it’s all the time. Let me not just be your _trans_  partner sometimes. Let me just be your partner, and let’s just do what they do. OK?” Pete still looked unsure, so Patrick took his face in his hands and kissed him again. And again. Pete whimpered and Patrick finally sensed him relaxing. “Pete, please?”

When Pete nodded and said, “Yeah, Patrick,” the younger boy pulled his boyfriend on top of him amid a flurry of sliding tongues and little whimpers. Pete ran his hands over the sides of Patrick’s head as Patrick hooked his calves behind Pete’s. Pete unbuttoned Patrick’s shirt and slid it open, running his hands over the newly flat pectoral area as Patrick shrugged the garment off under him.

Those beautiful, slender hands were under the hem of Pete’s t-shirt again, sending shivers over his back as Patrick pushed the shirt up over his head and pulled it off. Then their mouths were on each other again, eager hands sliding over warm, soft skin. Patrick moved to kiss Pete’s neck, trailing his lips over the collar of thorns, and soon Pete was rutting against Patrick’s crotch.

“Ow, wait, Pete, stop,” he panted.

Pete snapped immediately to attention and drew back, looking Patrick in the face with worried eyes. “What? What is it? Are you alright?” he babbled.

Patrick laughed and put a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “I’m fine, Baby. I just need to readjust. Gimme a minute…” He shifted a little, then said, “Actually, just lemme up, OK?” Pete scrambled off the bed and stood up, shifting his weight from foot to foot while his eyes darted everywhere.

When the younger boy stood up, too, he took in Pete’s panicked demeanor and said, “Pete, calm down.” He unbuttoned his jeans and shimmied them off. “You were hitting the packer, that’s all. I need to take it off.”

“Oh,” Pete sighed, as a relived half-smile lit up his face. “OK.” After a moment, he took his jeans off, too, then looked his boyfriend over. He watched Patrick shuck his boxer-briefs, and sucked in a breath at the sight of the packer. They’d been together for some time, but Pete had never really seen it on him, not like this. As Patrick removed it, Pete felt his heart rate pick up and his breathing get heavy. He put it down and stood naked, fidgeting with his hands in front of his belly and looking down.

Patrick was beautiful.

Pete couldn’t have averted his eyes if he’d wanted to. He looked at the thin, fine, russet hair on his head, the unsure set of his broad shoulders, the delicate scars under his chest, and his smooth, ageless skin. His body was small, but it disguised strength. Strength Pete wanted to give himself over to and lose himself in forever.

“Oh, God,” Pete breathed. “Patrick, I… I could look at you until I go blind.” His face was serious as he reached out a slow, careful hand, to trail along Patrick’s collarbone. “You’re absolutely gorgeous.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Patrick murmured. “I can’t believe I’m naked with Pete goddamned Wentz.”

Pete looked down and realized he was behind, so he pulled his underwear off and stood up straight again. “Well, now you are.”

Patrick looked at Pete, this hot older guy he’d been dreaming of for years, and his mouth went dry. He swallowed hard and stepped closer, trailing a hand over Pete’s body like Pete had done to him. “You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this, Pete. I’ve wanted you since I met you.” He was following his hand with his eyes, but then he lifted his gaze to meet Pete’s. “I can’t believe this is happening. That I… I get to have this.” He sighed, averted his gaze momentarily, then looked back up at Pete. “I can’t believe you want me, too.”

Pete pulled him close, relishing the warm feel of his body against his own. “Patrick, there’s no one else I could ever want.” With one hand at the small of the younger boy’s back and one hand on his jaw, Pete claimed Patrick’s mouth with his own. Patrick made a small, needy noise and wrapped his arms around Pete, pressing them closer. Pete’s hands were sliding down Patrick’s back and cupping his ass, pressing everything below their waists against each other, and suddenly Patrick felt Pete’s shaft nuzzling between his legs, hot and smooth. Pete moaned, burying his face in Patrick’s neck, and began rutting again, sliding against where Patrick was so wet, ready for more.

He moved toward the bed again, pulling Pete with him so they were lying side by side, facing each other. Pete stroked up and down Patrick’s shoulder, occasionally straying to graze his fingers over Patrick’s chest and smiling at the way Patrick would gasp and arch into the touch.

“They’re still so sensitive,” Pete whispered, and Patrick nodded while returning the touch and watching Pete react much the same way. Patrick took in the way his eyes lolled shut, the way his body undulated into Patrick’s hands, and the delicious sounds Pete Wentz was making because of Patrick’s touch. Patrick’s hands. Patrick’s mouth on his neck. Patrick’s leg hooking up over Pete’s hip and rolling him on top of himself. Pete dipped down and took Patrick’s nipple into his mouth, sucking and sliding his tongue over it while Patrick rolled his hips up and was rewarded with the unbelievable sensation of Pete’s shaft back in the sensitive, wet skin between his legs. He threw his head back with a moan of Pete’s name.

Pete slid his hand downward, down into that one place where Patrick was seeking friction and attention, and rubbed gently a few times before sliding a finger inside. Patrick gave a hiss, then matched Pete’s movements after a minute or two.

“Pete, now, please,” Patrick begged. “I want you now.”

Pete kissed Patrick’s soft lips and then opened his mouth to speak, but the look on his face told Patrick something, so he put a finger on Pete’s lips and said, “If you’re about to ask me if I’m sure, I’m gonna knee you in the balls.”

“OK, fine,” Pete laughed. “But, like this? Here?” he asked a bit playfully as he kept sliding his fingers in and out.

Patrick grabbed Pete’s wrist and stilled it, looking him in the eyes. “Yes. Now, here, like this. Just… get a condom.”

“But, I thought, like, you couldn’t…” Pete waved a hand at Patrick’s belly.

“Oh, uh, I shouldn’t be able to, but I really don’t even wanna chance it.” Patrick grinned weakly.

Pete nodded and opened his nightstand drawer behind him, then procured one and opened it with shaking hands. He rolled it on and climbed up over Patrick. “I love you,” he said, one hand on himself and the other trailing a thumb over Patrick’s lush bottom lip. “This is probably gonna hurt, but it should get better, and if you want me to stop, just say, OK?”

Patrick nodded, eyes wide, and said, “Yeah, go ahead. I want to.” After a pause, he said, “Oh, and Pete? I love you, too.”

With that, Pete began sliding in. He went slowly, and yeah, it burned a little, but eventually Pete worked himself all the way inside Patrick.

_Jesus fucking Christ, I’m inside Patrick._

“Oh, Christ, ‘Trick, this feels amazing. I’m not gonna last like this,” Pete whined, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration. “You’re so fucking tight, it’s perfect. A-are…” He took a deep breath to steady himself, then opened his eyes. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah, I’m OK,” he said, his voice wavering. He shifted a little, lifted his leg, then gasped and twitched bodily as he said, “Oh, God, Pete, there, ooohhhhh…” He started moving his hips against Pete, hitting spots inside and outside that sent electric shocks through his body unlike anything he’d ever felt pleasuring himself on his own.  
Soon, Pete was moving, too, pulled along by Patrick, and in short order, he was coming. “Patrick, fuck, oh Jesus, oh God, ohhh…” He loosed a small, high-pitched sound Patrick didn’t think could ever come out of Pete as he started throbbing inside Patrick, who gave a surprised little moan at the feel of it. Knowing he’d done this, that Pete was coming in less than two minutes because of him, calling his name. He felt a burst of pleasure and warmth where he and Pete were joined, and found himself clutching at Pete’s ass to push him on, deeper, rolling himself more and more to hit that spot, draw out the sensation coursing through him. As Pete came down, he was able to open his eyes and watch Patrick experience his orgasm, lost in the feeling, sweat matting his hair and shining on his warm, blushing skin. His mouth was open as choked sobs fell from his lips and his  
eyes were squinted shut.

Seeing Patrick in complete abandon like this, totally surrendered to what he and Pete were doing, made Pete feel like his heart would burst.

The wave started ebbing, and Patrick was visibly calming, his breath slowing a little as he opened his disbelieving eyes and looked at Pete. Their gazes met and mirrored each other’s awe.

“You’re amazing,” Pete murmured, kissing Patrick and cradling his face.

Patrick laughed, and the vibration went straight through both of them. “I… I… I’m…”

“Are you alright?” Pete asked.

“Yes, I’m… well, like you said, I’m amazing. I feel amazing. I… I just am… happy. I’m beyond happy, Pete. I love you.”

Pete smiled, big and wide, and kissed Patrick again. “I love you.”

Patrick rolled his eyes downward and said, “You should probably pull out now.”

“Oh yeah,” Pete said, finally noticing how he was softening and the condom was starting to leak.

He knotted off the condom and tossed it. They lay on their backs, side by side again, looking at the ceiling. “Do we cuddle?” Pete asked.

“Gimme a minute,” Patrick sighed. “Pete, I’m… I’m glad it was this way. Y’know, with you, and, like, now. I think any sooner and it would have been, like, a problem for me. You know?”

Pete nodded. “I think I get it. You’re, like, where you wanna be physically and stuff. And can I just tell you, I wanna try other stuff. Like, toys and stuff. I want that so bad. I can’t wait to just, like, play and experiment with you. This is incredible, and I loved it, but I want it all.”

Patrick rolled onto his side and took Pete’s hand. “I know. I think that’s why this felt OK to do. I just… didn’t want to think anymore, just for a few minutes. I wanted to just be. Be who I am, and be that with you. And I feel fine. Still like a guy. Inside, you know. This… this doesn’t change that. I guess I needed to come to that on my own, the idea that a penis doesn’t make me a guy or not a guy. Not really. Not to me, anyway.”

“Not to me either,” Pete said as he rolled to face Patrick. “I just… I never want to hurt you, Patrick. I never want to be careless with you.”

The younger boy snuggled closer to Pete and let him wrap his arms around him. “Believe me, Pete, I know.”

******

“Pete, are you sure about this?” Patrick asked. He and Pete were sitting side-by-side in Pete's room, sharing a laptop, browsing toys. His cheeks were flushed as they scrolled through endless images of huge, brightly colored strap-ons. Patrick tried to picture himself wearing some fluorescent pink plastic-looking thing and cringed. “I think these are gonna look kinda ridiculous on me.”

“Well, we'll just get one of the flesh-colored ones,” Pete said simply, touching Patrick's warm face. “How about that one?” He pointed at the screen. “It looks soft and bendy.” He kissed Patrick's cheek and lay his head on the younger boy's shoulder, arousal already creeping into his lower body as he imagined Patrick naked, wearing that thing and fucking him senseless. “And since you asked, yes, I'm sure. I want this so badly.” His voice had taken on a kind of groan as he said this, and he felt Patrick shift a little against him.

Patrick sighed and patted on Pete's cheek. “OK, Baby,” he said, and enlarged the picture Pete had chosen.

Pete gasped and clutched his boyfriend's hand at the sight. “Oh, that one. Yeah,” he said, breathy and low. “I want that one. Is that OK with you?” He raised a long, thin finger to trail the curve of the pixilated image while Patrick chewed his lip and just stared at it. He pictured himself wearing that one, and it felt... not ridiculous. Now, he felt like he could join Pete in this thoughts, and he wove his fingers with the older boy's, his heart racing.

“Yeah,” Patrick agreed. “Yeah, I like that one, too.” They punched in Pete's credit card, and were thus assured their purchase would arrive in discreet packaging in three to five days.

Pete looked at his boyfriend with big puppy-dog eyes. “What are we gonna do til then?” he asked dramatically, pouting out his full lower lip.

Patrick looked back at that face, that pleading, ridiculous face, and captured that pouty lip between his own. “We'll just have to make do with the one dick we have,” he said playfully, and slid down between Pete's knees.

“God, I love you, Rickster,” Pete breathed as he unbuttoned his pants, his eyes never leaving that full, lush mouth as it went to work on him.

******

Patrick was not fully awake when his phone started vibrating that Saturday morning. He groaned and grabbed his glasses, swallowing thickly around the sour taste in his mouth, then took his phone and flipped it open. Pete. Of course. No one else would dream of waking him up at 9:30 on a weekend.

_its here its here its heeeeerrrrrrrrrrrreeeeee tricky cum ovr I haf 2 c u_

He rolled his eyes at the ridiculous spelling and the fact that Pete wanted to talk about sex before noon.

He wrote back: _Later. Sleepy time now._

His phone buzzed again in his hand before he could even put it down, and this time it was all caps: **_TRICKY VON STUMP RICKTALIFE GET OVER HERE NOW OR ILL GO THERE_**  
 ** _N DRAG U OUTTA BED_**

Patrick just had time to think, _He would, too, and he'd slap me in the face with my own strap-on_ , and then his phone buzzed again.

_and ill slap you w/this thing_

*buzz*

_cmon we haf 2 open it 2gthr_

He sighed and rolled his eyes.

_OK, OK, calm down. I'll be there soon. Let me clean up first._

He spent a little extra time in the shower, feeling like he needed to make sure every corner and crevice of his body was spotless. Maybe he was dawdling a little because he was a little nervous. Once he was clean and dressed, he quickly ate a bowl of cereal, brushed his teeth, and headed over to Pete's, coffee in hand. He didn't even get a second knock on the door before his boyfriend threw it open, wide grin on his face. He grabbed Patrick's hand and pulled him inside eagerly, leading him up to his room where the infamous brown paper package sat waiting for them.

“So, that's it, huh?” Patrick asked dumbly, a tremor in his voice as he closed the door behind him.

“Uh-huh,” Pete said eagerly as he flopped on the bed and took the box in his hands. “Come on, babe, sit with me.” The younger boy did as asked, and he and Pete each sat with a leg up on the bed, facing each other, with the box between their sideways shins. Patrick looked from the package to Pete's face, which suddenly flashed concern. “Are you OK, 'Trick? Are you nervous?”

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, kinda. I don't know why. I just... am.”

Pete took his hand and put it flat on the box, his own over it. “That's why we're doing this together.” He flicked his gaze momentarily down to their hands, then back up to Patrick. “See? We're touching the box, and nothing's happened. No lightning, no horrible curse of boils. It's OK.” He gave a weak laugh, and Patrick smiled.

“OK, Pete. Together.”

They each took a side and ripped the folded edges off, then slid the box out of the remaining paper sleeve. With a shaking hand, Patrick opened the side of the box, reached in, and pulled out his first honest-to-God toy. He hung it from his splayed fingers by a strap, and they stared at it in wonder. Pete reached right up and wrapped his hand around the phallus, squeezing and twisting his wrist this way and that.

He gasped and said, “Oh, my God, Patrick, this feels awesome. Touch it.”

Patrick did, following Pete's motions, and agreed that, based on his limited experience with actual penises (meaning, he only knew Pete's, and liked it a great deal), it did feel nice.

Pete's eyes were suddenly boring holes into him, and Patrick looked at him quizzically. “What?” he asked.

“Don't give me that. You know what. I'm already totally turned on and excited by how awesome this is gonna be.” He smirked playfully, trailing a finger down the large, fake vein of the toy. “I can't wait until you fuck me with this,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss Patrick on the mouth.

He accepted Pete's eager kiss with equal fervor, but was quick to put a hand on Pete's chest and pull back to say, “Dude, your parents are here. You can't be thinking of using this now .”

“Hmm, tempting,” Pete hummed, “but I was thinking more of out first hotel night on the tour.”

Patrick breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “Better,” he agreed, and kissed Pete again.

******

Said hotel night was after a big show in Detroit. They didn't have another show for two days, and that was in Cleveland, so they got to stay over and leave the following afternoon. Pete could not have been more thrilled at not only a night to rest in a real bed, not only no morning bus call, but all the promises of a large, private room with Patrick and no parents or bandmates breathing down their necks.

This was the night Pete would lay himself before Patrick and give himself over completely, put that beautiful, gentle creature in complete control of him. Let Patrick have him, use him, and own him in the best possible way. Pete's entire body was threatening to vibrate off into its separate cellular components all night long.

The two lovers kept stealing glances at each other the entire performance, and Pete was even clingier and more touchy with Patrick than usual, but Patrick didn't seem to mind. They even shared a bear hug right onstage after the final number.

“I can't wait to get to our room,” Pete whispered against Patrick's neck, and the younger boy shivered. Sharing this secret, right there in front of 15,000 fans, was completely fucking hot in a way Patrick would never be able to describe.

“I know,” he murmured back, and they ran off to get in the car to the hotel.

Joe and Andy let themselves into their separate rooms with a shared eye roll while Pete and Patrick stumbled down the hall, giggling and holding each other up. They had not had a drop to drink; they were just high on each other.

Pete rocked on the balls of his feet while Patrick fumbled the key card in his trembling hands. While he didn't actually say anything, Patrick knew the impatience and anxiousness Pete was expressing, and he said, “I know, Baby, I almost got it.”

When he heard that click, Pete breathed out, “Yessssssss.” They went in, and dropped their bags in the little closet. It was far from the Ritz Carlton, but it was leagues away from sleeping in a van curled around an amp. Before Patrick could even begin unzipping his coat, Pete was all over him, kissing his face and neck and clutching at the lapels of his outerwear. “Patrick,” he moaned low in his throat. “God, I've wanted this for so long.”

Patrick gently took Pete's hands off of him and pulled them a small distance apart. “I know,” he said softly, gently, “but we just got done with a show, we're gross and sweaty, and frankly, I want this to be a really nice, special, and um, less odoriferous occasion?” He waved a hand between them, and Pete gave a small smile.

“OK. But you have to wash me,” he said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Deal,” Patrick said with a big grin.

Patrick would have no idea he was so clever, or such a romantic, but he had the marvelous idea to run an actual bath. He sprinkled it with hotel shampoo to get some meager amount of bubbles going, and then sat in it against the edge while Pete leaned on his chest with Patrick's arms and legs wrapped around him. He washed Pete's hair and ran one of those too-bright-white, bleach-scented washcloths over his back and shoulders as Pete hunched forward, groaning with pleasure at the attention. While Pete got out and dried off, Patrick washed his own hair and rinsed himself clean. When he opened the drain and stepped out, Pete took a towel and dried his body for him,  
ogling shamelessly.

Kneeling before his boyfriend, running a towel over his shin and ankle, Pete looked up at him with complete adoration and said, “I love you.”

Patrick put a hand on Pete's cheek and smiled. “I love you, too, Pete.”

His task finished, he sprang up and took Patrick's hands. “Now come on and fuck me.”

The younger boy laughed voicelessly through his nose and shook his head at him. “OK.”

Pete took both of Patrick's hands and walked backward from the bathroom to the bed, then sat on the edge and looked up at this gorgeous person who stood naked before him.

Patrick had never thought he'd see a day when he'd be comfortable being naked with anyone, let alone someone as beautiful and sleek as Pete, but the look on Pete's face as he positively devoured every inch of Patrick's body with his eyes was something he never got tired of. Pete's strong hands encircled Patrick's hips, and his thumbs trailed over the soft curve of his pale belly. Pete placed a kiss next to where his thumb lay, and another, and another, then slid his hands around to the small of Patrick's back and pulled him closer. He just buried his face against that soft, smooth skin, breathing in Patrick's scent and covering the area with wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and rested his forehead just above Patrick's navel.

Patrick turned Pete's gaze up to meet his own and said, “How do you want this?”

Pete got up and retrieved the strap-on and lube from his bag, tossing them on the bedspread. “I want you behind me. Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” Patrick breathed, picking up the toy and looking at it like he'd never seen it before. Pete climbed under the covers and stroked himself slowly while Patrick put the toy on and made sure it was secure. He wrapped his hand around it, and felt a little ridge inside that hit him in a very nice way when he pushed on it. He'd been worried he wasn't going to get anything out of the actual act of topping Pete, but now he was practically soaking with the need for it, as he watched Pete lick  
his lips and look him over, still jerking himself.

“God, please, get over here,” Pete begged, low and husky. “Please, I need you so bad.”

Patrick didn't need to be asked twice.

He got in bed next to Pete, and was greeted immediately with a passionate kiss and eager rutting against his thigh. “'Trick,” Pete moaned, “God, please, please...” He trailed off as he began peppering kisses all over the younger boy's neck.

“I... uh, I-I've never done this before,” Patrick panted, putting his arms around his love and cradling his head. “Um... will you help me?”

Pete pulled back to look Patrick in the face, and was heartbroken to see such fear in his features.

“Of course. Here.” He took Patrick's hand and grabbed the lube, then coated three of his fingers.

After a quick kiss to Patrick's mouth, Pete got on his knees and forearms, letting the blanket fall away. “OK, come over here,” he said with a flick of his head toward his ass.  
Patrick braced himself on his dry hand and got himself up and behind Pete. He took a moment to take in the sight of this gorgeous, sweet, smart best friend, boyfriend, and lover presenting himself in such a vulnerable way before him. He looked at the tattoo on his back, the curve of his cheeks, the way his thighs were trembling. He almost couldn't believe this was all for him.

“God, Pete, you're so beautiful,” he said reverently, caressing one side of his ass with his dry hand. He pressed a kiss just above his tailbone, and softly said, “Should I  
start with one?”

Pete nodded. “Yeah, go slow, OK?” Patrick hummed his agreement and slowly pressed the pad of one finger against the tense muscle. Pete drew in a breath through his teeth as the younger boy watched in amazement as his finger disappeared to the first knuckle, then the second, then all the way in. It was hot inside him, soft and tight, and for a moment he wished he could know what it would be like to put his cock in there, for real, but he blinked away the mist in his eyes at that thought, and worked his one finger in and out gently.

“OK, two now,” Pete instructed, and Patrick did as he was told, carefully like before. Pete instructed him to scissor, to cross and uncross, and then said, “OK, crook your fingers upward, toward my back...” Patrick did, and Pete shimmied backward a little. “Oh, God, you're so close... a little further.” Patrick pushed just a little harder, bending his fingers back toward himself, and felt a soft little bundle. Just as he hit it, Pete arched up and cried out. “Oh, God, that's it. Can you hit that target with the toy?” He asked as Patrick went for it again, drawing another pretty moan from him.

He committed the spot to memory and said, “I think so.”

“Good. Lube up that cock and put it in me,” Pete whined. “God, please, Patrick, take me. I want you so bad.”

Patrick's heart felt like it would leap right out of his chest at that. “OK, yeah,” he said hungrily as he coated the toy with lube and lined up. He tried to be slow and deliberate like he'd been with his fingers, but Pete just pushed right back up against him until he was in his lap, and started to move himself back and forth on his own, fucking himself on the toy.

Patrick grabbed Pete's hips and began matching his movements, setting a rhythm. The underside was rubbing him perfectly, sending sparks through his belly and thighs. He reached around to Pete's nipple and tugged the ring there, and Pete made a delicious, needy sound, then went forward onto his elbows again. “'Trick, please, more .”

“Oh, God, Pete,” he replied as he positioned himself up over Pete's back, forehead at the warm junction of his neck and shoulder, and sped up a little. It was as though Pete were touching him there, where he was so wet and sensitive, and it was so, so good. Patrick felt himself whimpering against Pete's back, mumbling Pete's name as he chased his orgasm.

“Touch me, please, I'm so close, God you're so good, so good... it's fucking perfect, Patrick, fuck...” Pete began babbling as Patrick reached around and started stroking his cock, which was throbbing and leaking.

“You're fucking mine, Pete,” Patrick said, much to his own surprise as Pete's.

“Yes,” Pete wailed and began pushing back against Patrick's hips more urgently, chanting _yesyesyesPatrickI'myoursohGodpleasefuckmetakemeownmeGodfuckfuckfuck_ and then the words were lost as Pete spilled all over his fist and clenched on the toy, pushing back against Patrick just a little more. The sound, the smell of Pete's release, and that perfect pressure on him was all it took to push Patrick over the edge and make that hot, pulsating sensation low in his body explode. He clutched Pete's shoulders and rode it with all his might, wailing against his shoulder.

Pete covered one of Patrick's hands with his own as they came down, Patrick covered in sweat and trembling on top of him, and said, “Fuck you're amazing.”

Patrick gave a weak laugh and said, “I have a good teacher.” He pulled out and got up to take the toy off.

“Wait,” Pete rasped, his voice used up, and Patrick paused to look at him. “I... I just wanna look at you like this for a minute.” He flopped on his side and just stared, worn out but in awe. “Fucking gorgeous.”

Patrick felt himself blushing ever deeper, but he put a hand on his hip and cocked it out to the side.

“Yeah? You like this?” he said, feeling momentarily confident.

“Mhm,” Pete said sleepily. “Very much.”

With a weak little laugh, Patrick detached the toy and put it in the bathroom, then came back with a cloth to clean them up. As before, Pete purred at the soft touch and the attention. “You're so good, 'Trick.”

He smiled. “I try.”

After that, they curled up under the covers, Pete's face mashed into Patrick's throat and their legs intertwined. “That was incredible, 'Trick. I loved it. Thank you.”

Patrick squeezed a little tighter and said, “I did, too. Thank you.”

They drifted off to sleep like that, warm and naked and happily wrapped up in each other.

******

“Oh my God, Patrick! Patrick! You're my hero! Can I get a hug, please?” a fan screamed as they made their way toward the bus. They were in New York City, playing a mid-sized venue, and there had been a crowd of people waiting for them outside after the show.

Patrick smiled and said, “Yeah, of course!” He leaned right over to the excited young girl, who said her name was Hilary, and they took a picture together, then he hugged her tightly. It felt nice to be able to do that and not worry about anything being... discovered. There was nothing to discover now.

The guys gave assorted hi-fives, hugs, fist bumps, and photos with fans, taking their time with each person to say hi and thank them for coming out to the show. When they finally made their way onto the bus, amid screaming and continued waving from the crowd, Patrick made a beeline for the shower in the back. He re-emerged into the lounge area in a plain t-shirt and blue plaid pajama bottoms, his fine strawberry hair sticking out in towel-mussed adorableness on his head. He itched a sideburn (grateful he could grow some facial hair) and plopped down on the couch, then grabbed the DVD book and started looking for something to watch.

Pete, meanwhile, took his turn in the back to clean up and change, much as he didn't even want to be that far from Patrick right now, even for five minutes. He unzipped his bag and...

Shit.

“Hey, 'Trick?” he called, and Patrick hummed back idly. “You got an extra pair of boxers I can borrow? I gotta hit the laundromat in the next town.”

“Oh, yeah, in my bag. I'll be right there.”

“Nah, it's good, I got it,” Pete mumbled as he pulled his boyfriend's duffel out of his bunk. He unzipped it and just started rummaging, heedless of Patrick's assurance that he'd be right there.

“Pete, hey, I...” he stopped short at the sight of Pete, beautiful, slim, and tan, standing in the bunks wearing only a towel, pulling an ancient artifact out of his bag: the plain, white binder that had been a peace offering to a scared, lonely, boy who was still transitioning. Patrick remembered the biting, gnashing darkness that had roiled within him back then, when he felt so isolated, so wrong and freakish and different. Sometimes, it seemed like another lifetime, sometimes it felt like it was yesterday.

But then Pete would look at him, so full of wonder and adoration, call him beautiful, and it would almost feel like that sadness was part of someone else's life, like a movie he'd seen. Pete had magic inside him, Patrick was sure of it, the way just a kiss, a touch, a look, a word, could mute that old pain and make it shrink away like a scolded puppy that just a moment before had looked like Cerberus itself.

And of course, Pete would remind him that the magic was also Patrick's own doing, because Patrick was the one who allowed Pete in, and trusted him enough to believe in what they had and in how Pete felt, so really Patrick had to take some of the credit. And then Patrick would just swoon even more.

All this came flooding into his mind and his heart as Pete stood with the binder in his hands, blinking back tears.

“'Trick,” he breathed, awestruck. “You... you still have this?” He turned to meet the younger man's gaze as Patrick started nodding.

“Of course I do,” he said like it should be obvious. “I mean, obviously, I don't need to wear it anymore, but... it was the first gift you ever gave me. Well, the first one I could touch, and hold, y'know.” He waved his hand ineffectually as he tried to explain. “Like I said then, that was the kindest thing anyone besides my mom had ever done for me. It was the first time you showed me support, and it was immediately after you found out. Like, almost no transition time. You went straight from not knowing to 'how do I help'. It... well, it told me everything I needed to know about you, Pete. That I could trust you, that I could love you like I really, desperately wanted to. You showed me your heart when you gave me that, and that,” he paused dramatically and sighed, “that is the first and best gift you really ever gave me.”

Pete smiled crookedly, tears running down his face. “You really are a sap, Von Stump,” he choked out.

Patrick smirked and said, “Tell no one.”

Pete dropped the binder and launched forward at Patrick, monkey arms gripping him as if for dear life. “I love you so much.”

Patrick returned the embrace, and felt his own eyes stinging a little. “I love you, too, Pete. Thank you for... for... I don't even know. Just for being the best person. The best everything I could ever ask for.”

“Your towel is falling off,” Joe called from the lounge, “and you're blocking the way to the back, you gross, disgusting lovebirds. Get a room!”

The men broke apart with a weak laugh, and Pete gripped his towel, which had slipped just a hair low, even for him. Patrick fished some underwear out of his bag and gave them to his boyfriend, then packed the binder up and tucked his duffel away so he could finish getting dressed. When they went back to the lounge, they sat on the couch with Pete's shins over Patrick's lap.

“Next hotel night... will you wear that?” Pete whispered conspiratorially, flicking his head toward the binder in the duffel bag.

Patrick furrowed his brow. “What? Um, I guess so, why?”

“I don't know,” Pete murmured as he plucked at his pant leg. “I guess because of everything you just said. And... I don't know, I liked the way it looked. I mean, I liked the way you looked in everything, or nothing, but... something about remembering those first times when you were so nervous...”

“Yeah, 'cause I was the only nervous one,” Patrick scoffed.

Pete slugged Patrick's upper arm. “Hey, I had reasons! Good ones. I wanted to be good to you and protect your... your...” he flailed at Patrick, “sense of self, or whatever. I wanted to do things right. You can't be mad at me for that.” He folded his arms and pouted.

“Hey, I'm not mad,” Patrick said tenderly, wresting Pete's hand out and holding it. “It was cute. It was nice. I'm glad you cared that much.”

“Of course I did. I still do,” Pete whined. Patrick laughed to see he was still pouting.

“You are such a baby,” he chided gently, then leaned over and caught the protruding lower lip between his own. Pete gave a little moan and immediately chased Patrick's mouth with his, trying to deepen the kiss further.

They were interrupted by gagging noises as Joe and Andy came back and sat across from them. Pete rolled his eyes. “Get over it, Trohman.” When Joe just scoffed and rolled his own eyes right back, Pete grabbed his left butt cheek and said, “You're just jealous 'cause you want this ass for yourself.”

“Yes, that's exactly it,” Joe shot back sarcastically. “I totally want your stank ass instead of my hot girlfriend.”

Patrick turned himself so his back was against Pete's chest, and Pete wrapped his arms and legs around his boyfriend possessively. “Doesn't matter, Troh, 'cause I'm marrying Patrick.”

“What?” came the chorus of three stunned men.

“Oh, yeah, right, um, babe, I meant to ask you, do you think you might not mind terribly if we got married? Like, sooner than later?” Pete said, squeezing Patrick against him. The younger man blushed absolutely crimson, and Pete kissed his warm cheek.

Patrick looked at Joe and Andy, who were leaning forward with anticipation, waiting on an answer almost as much as Pete probably was.

“Um, yeah, I wouldn't mind that very much, or, like, at all. Yeah. I'll marry you, Pete.” He then let out a yelp as Pete rolled them both onto the floor with a whoop of excitement.

Pete maneuvered himself so he was on top of Patrick, fingers intertwined, and said, “I'm gonna make you the happiest man ever.”

“Good,” Patrick said softly. “You can start by getting off of me. Your bony ass is digging into my stomach. And you're weirding out our bandmates.”

Pete looked questioningly at Andy and Joe, who smiled and nodded in agreement. Pete did as requested and returned to the couch. Patrick went back to his prior position and let Pete encircle him again.

“So, Patrick, you're gonna be stuck with Pete's ass forever,” Joe said.

Andy finally spoke up. “Patrick was gonna be stuck with Pete's ass forever anyway, whether they made it legal or not.”

Pete squeezed the young ginger ever closer and said, “This is all true. I can't live without my Patrick.”

Feeling unusually sentimental, He took Pete's wrists in his hands, smiled, and said, “Well, hopefully, you'll never have to.”

Andy smiled sagely, while Joe pretended to gag again.

“Just do me a favor?” Andy asked. The now-fiances looked expectantly at their drummer, and he said, “Don't just run off to a JP at the next stop, or anything? I want a real wedding that I can attend in real clothes and shit. OK?”

Patrick said, “Of course not, man,” but he was pretty sure he heard a disappointed huff from behind him. He just smirked and patted Pete's hands over his heart. “We'll do it right.”


End file.
